Zrrnly  ' 

Second 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
Gift  of 

Sheldon  Cheney  Estate 


EMILY   DICKINSON'S   POEMS. 

Edited  by  two  of  her  friends,  Mabel   Lootnis 
Todd  and  T.  W.  Higginson. 

FIRST  AND  SECOND  SERIES.  i6mo,  cloth, 
price  of  each,  $i .25  ;  white  and  green 
cloth,  full  gilt,  price  of  each,  $1.50. 


ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 
Boston. 


Fac-simile  of  "  Renunciation,"  by  Emily  Dickinson. 

PRINTED  IN  THE   FIRST   VOLUME  OF   HER  POEMS. 


^ 


POEMS 


BY 


EMILY    DICKINSON 


itrtJ  fcg  tfoo  of  fjft  JFrwtrtis 
T.  W.  HIGGINSON  AND  MABEL  LOOMIS  TODD 


SECOND  SEXIES 


BOSTON 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS 
1893 


Copyright,  1891, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


FIFTH    EDITION. 


Kttibersitg 

JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


PREFACE. 


HPHE  eagerness  with  which  the  first  volume  of 
•*•  Emily  Dickinson's  poems  has  been  read  shows 
very  clearly  that  all  our  alleged  modern  artificiality 
does  not  prevent  a  prompt  appreciation  of  the  quali- 
ties of  directness  and  simplicity  in  approaching  the 
greatest  themes,  —  life  and  love  and  death.  That 
"  irresistible  needle-touch,"  as  one  of  her  best  critics 
has  called  it,  piercing  at  once  the  very  core  of  a 
thought,  has  found  a  response  as  wide  and  sympa- 
thetic as  it  has  been  unexpected  even  to  those  who 
knew  best  her  compelling  power.  This  second  vol- 
ume, while  open  to  the  same  criticism  as  to  form 
with  its  predecessor,  shows  also  the  same  shining 
beauties. 

Although  Emily  Dickinson  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  sending  occasional  poems  to  friends  and  corre- 


4  PREFACE. 

spondents,  the  full  extent  of  her  writing  was  by  no 
means  imagined  by  them.  Her  friend  "  H.  H." 
must  at  least  have  suspected  it,  for  in  a  letter 
dated  5th  September,  1884,  she  wrote:  — 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  What  portfolios  full  of  verses 
you  must  have!  It  is  a  cruel  wrong  to  your  "day  and 
generation  "  that  you  will  not  give  them  light 

If  such  a  thing  should  happen  as  that  I  should  outlive 
you,  I  wish  you  would  make  me  your  literary  legatee 
and  executor.  Surely  after  you  are  what  is  called 
"  dead  "  you  will  be  willing  that  the  poor  ghosts  you 
have  left  behind  should  be  cheered  and  pleased  by  your 
verses,  will  you  not  ?  You  ought  to  be.  1  do  not  think 
we  have  a  right  to  withhold  from  the  world  a  word  or 
a  thought  any  more  than  a  deed  which  might  help  a 
single  soul.  .  ,  . 

Truly  yours, 

HELEN  JACKSON. 

The  "  portfolios "  were  found,  shortly  after  Emily 
Dickinson's  death,  by  her  sister  and  only  surviving 
housemate.  Most  of  the  poems  had  been  carefully 
copied  on  sheets  of  note-paper,  and  tied  in  little  fas- 
cicules, each  of  six  or  eight  sheets.  While  many 


,  PREFACE.  5 

of  them  bear  evidence  of  having  been  thrown  off  at 
white  heat,  still  more  had  received  thoughtful  revi- 
sion. There  is  the  frequent  addition  of  rather  per- 
plexing foot-notes,  affording  large  choice  of  words  and 
phrases.  And  in  the  copies  which  she  sent  to  friends, 
sometimes  one  form,  sometimes  another,  is  found  to 
have  been  used.  Without  important  exception,  her 
friends  have  generously  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the 
Editors  any  poems  they  had  received  from  her ;  and 
these  have  given  the  obvious  advantage  of  compari- 
son among  several  renderings  of  the  same  verse. 

To  what  further  rigorous  pruning  her  verses  would 
have  been  subjected  had  she  published  them  herself, 
we  cannot  know.  They  should  be  regarded  in  many 
cases  as  merely  the  first  strong  and  suggestive  sketches 
of  an  artist,  intended  to  be  embodied  at  some  time  in 
the  finished  picture. 

Emily  Dickinson  appears  to  have  written  her  first 
poems  in  the  winter  of  1862.  In  a  letter  to  one  of 
the  present  Editors  the  April  following,  she  says,  "  1 
made  no  verse,  but  one  or  two,  until  this  winter." 

The  handwriting  was  at  first  somewhat  like  the 
delicate,  running  Italian  hand  of  our  elder  gentle- 


6  PREFACE. 

women ;  but  as  she  advanced  in  breadth  of  thought, 
it  grew  bolder  and  more  abrupt,  until  in  her  latest 
years  each  letter  stood  distinct  and  separate  from  its 
fellows.  In  most  of  her  poems,  particularly  the  later 
ones,  everything  by  way  of  punctuation  was  discarded, 
except  numerous  dashes ;  and  all  important  words 
began  with  capitals.  The  effect  of  a  page  of  her 
more  recent  manuscript  is  exceedingly  quaint  and 
strong.  The  fac-simile  given  in  the  present  volume 
is  from  one  of  the  earlier  transition  periods.  Al- 
though there  is  nowhere  a  date,  the  handwriting  makes 
it  possible  to  arrange  the  poems  with  general  chrono- 
logic accuracy. 

As  a  rule,  the  verses  were  without  titles ;  but  "  A 
Country  Burial,"  "A  Thunder-Storm,"  "The  Hum- 
ming-Bird,"  and  a  few  others  were  named  by  their 
author,  frequently  at  the  end,  —  sometimes  only  in 
the  accompanying  note,  if  sent  to  a  friend. 

The  variation  of  readings,  with  the  fact  that  she 
often  wrote  in  pencil  and  not  always  clearly,  have  at 
times  thrown  a  good  deal  of  responsibility  upon  her 
Editors.  But  all  interference  not  absolutely  inevi- 
table has  been  avoided.  The  very  roughness  of  her 


PREFACE  7 

own  rendering  is  part  of  herself,  and  not  lightly  to 
be  touched;  for  it  seems  in  many  cases  that  she 
intentionally  avoided  the  smoother  and  more  usual 
rhymes. 

Like  impressionist  pictures,  or  Wagner's  rugged 
music,  the  very  absence  of  conventional  form  chal- 
lenges attention.  In  Emily  Dickinson's  exacting  hands, 
the  especial,  intrinsic  fitness  of  a  particular  order 
of  words  might  not  be  sacrificed  to  anything  virtually 
extrinsic  ;  and  her  verses  all  show  a  strange  cadence 
of  inner  rhythmical  music.  Lines  are  always  daringly 
constructed,  and  the  "thought-rhyme"  appears  fre- 
quently, —  appealing,  indeed,  to  an  unrecognized 
sense  more  elusive  than  hearing. 

Emily  Dickinson  scrutinized  everything  with  clear- 
eyed  frankness.  Every  subject  was  proper  ground  for 
legitimate  study,  even  the  sombre  facts  of  death  and 
burial,  and  the  unknown  life  beyond.  She  touches 
these  themes  sometimes  lightly,  sometimes  almost 
humorously,  more  often  with  weird  and  peculiar 
power ;  but  she  is  never  by  any  chance  frivolous  or 
trivial.  And  while,  as  one  critic  has  said,  she  may 
exhibit  toward  God  "  an  Emersonian  self-possession," 


8  PREFACE. 

it  was  because  she  looked  upon  all  life  with  a  candor 
as  unprejudiced  as  it  is  rare. 

She  had  tried  society  and  the  world,  and  found 
them  lacking.  She  was  not  an  invalid,  and  she  lived 
in  seclusion  from  no  love-disappointment.  Her  life 
was  the  normal  blossoming  of  a  nature  introspective 
to  a  high  degree,  whose  best  thought  could  not  exist 
in  pretence. 

Storm,  wind,  the  wild  March  sky,  sunsets  and 
dawns;  the  birds  and  bees,  butterflies  and  flowers  of 
her  garden,  with  a  few  trusted  human  friends,  were 
sufficient  companionship.  The  coming  of  the  first 
robin  was  a  jubilee  beyond  crowning  of  monarch  or 
birthday  of  pope ;  the  first  red  leaf  hurrying  through 
"the  altered  air,"  an  epoch.  Immortality  was  close 
about  her;  and  while  never  morbid  or  melancholy, 
she  lived  in  its  presence. 

MABEL   LOOMIS  TODD. 

AMHERST,  MASSACHUSETTS, 
August,  1891. 


CONTENTS. 


RENUNCIATION  (fac-simile} Frontispiece. 

PREFACE Page  3 

PRELUDE 17 

BOOK   I.  — LIFE. 

I     "I'm  nobody!     Who  are  you?" 21 

II.     "I  bring  an  unaccustomed  wine  " 22 

III.  "  The  nearest  dream  recedes  unrealized "      ...  24 

IV.  "  We  play  at  paste  " 25 

V.     "  I  found  the  phrase  to  every  thought "     ....  26 

VI.     Hope 27 

VII.    The  White  Heat 28 

VIII.     Triumphant 29 

IX.     The  Test 30 

X.    Escape 31 

XL    Compensation 32 

XII.    The  Martyrs       33 


IO 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

XIII.  A  Prayer 34 

XIV.  "  The  thought  beneath  so  slight  a  film  "     .     .  36 
XV.     "  The  soul  unto  itself  " .37 

XVI.  "  Surgeons  must  be  very  careful  "     ....  38 

XVII.     The  Railway  Train 39 

XVIII.    The  Show 40 

XIX.     "  Delight  becomes  pictorial" 41 

XX.  "  A  thought  went  up  my  mind  to-day  "      .     .  42 

XXI.     "  Is  Heaven  a  physician  ?" 43 

XXII.     The  Return 44 

XXIII.  "A  poor  torn  heart,  a  tattered  heart  "  .     .     .  45 

XXIV.  Too  Much 46 

XXV.  Shipwreck 48 

XXVI.  "  Victory  comes  late  " 49 

XXVII.     Enough 50 

XXVIII.     "  Experiment  to  me  " 51 

XXIX.     My  Country's  Wardrobe 52 

XXX.     "  Faith  is  a  fine  invention  " 53 

XXXI.  "  Except  the  heaven  had  come  so  near  "    .     .  54 

XXXII.     "  Portraits  are  to  daily  faces  " 55 

XXXIII.  The  Duel 56 

XXXIV.  "  A  shady  friend  for  torrid  days  "     ....  57 
XXXV.    The  Goal 58 

XXXVI.     Sight 60 

XXXVII.  "  Talk  with  prudence  to  a  beggar  "  ....  62 

XXXVIII.     The  Preacher 63 


CONTENTS. 


II 


PAGE 

XXXIX.  "  Good  night  I  which  put  the  candle  out  ? "  .  64 

XL.  "  When  I  hoped  I  feared  "       ........  65 

XLI.  Deed 66 

XLIL  Time's  Lesson 67 

XLIII.  Remorse 68 

XLIV.  The  Shelter 69 

XLV.  "  Undue  significance  a  starving  man  attaches  "  70 

XLVI.  "  Heart  not  so  heavy  as  mine  " 71 

XLVII.  "  I  many  times  thought  peace  had  come  "      .  73 

XLVIII.  "  Unto  my  books  so  good  to  turn  "       ...  74 

XLIX.  "  This  merit  hath  the  worst  " 75 

L.  Hunger 76 

LI.  "  I  gained  it  so  " 78 

LI  I.  "  To  learn  the  transport  by  the  pain  w  .     .     .  79 

LIII.  Returning 80 

LIV.  Prayer 82 

LV.  "  I  know  that  he  exists  " 83 

LVI.  Melodies  Unheard 84 

LVII.  Called  Back 85 

BOOK   II.  — LOVE. 

I.  Choice 89 

II.  "  I  have  no  life  but  this  " 90 

III.  "  Your  riches  taught  me  poverty  "   ....  91 

IV.  The  Contract .93 


12  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

V.     The  Letter 94 

VI.    "  The  way  I  read  a  letter  's  this  " 96 

VII.     "Wild  nights!     Wild  nights!" .97 

VIII.     At  Home 98 

IX.     Possession 100 

X.     "  A  charm  invests  a  face  " 101 

XL     The  Lovers 102 

XII.     "  In  lands  I  never  saw,  they  say  " 103 

XIII.  "  The  moon  is  distant  from  the  sea  "      ....     104 

XIV.  "  He  put  the  belt  around  my  life "      .     .        .     .     105 
XV.    The  Lost  Jewel 106 

XVI.     «  What  if  I  say  I  shall  not  wait  ?  " 107 

BOOK   III.  — NATURE. 

I.     Mother  Nature in 

II.     Out  of  the  Morning 113 

III.  "  At  half-past  three  a  single  bird  " 114 

IV.  Day's  Parlor 115 

V.     The  Sun's  Wooing 116 

VI.     The  Robin 117 

VII.     The  Butterfly's  Day 118 

VIII.     The  Bluebird 120 

IX.     April 121 

X.     The  Sleeping  Flowers 122 

XL     My  Rose 124 


CONTENTS.  13 

PAGE 

XII.  The  Oriole's  Secret 125 

XIII.  The  Oriole 126 

XIV.  In  Shadow 128 

XV.  The  Humming-Bird 130 

XVI.  Secrets K.     ...  131 

XVII.  "Who  robbed  the  woods?" 132 

XVIII.  Two  Voyagers 133 

XIX.  By  the  Sea 134 

XX.  Old-Fashioned 136 

XXI.  A  Tempest 138 

XXII.  The  Sea 139 

XXIII.  In  the  Garden 140 

XXIV.  The  Snake 142 

XXV.  The  Mushroom 144 

XXVI.  The  Storm 146 

XXVII.  The  Spider 147 

XXVIII.  "  I  know  a  place  where  summer  strives  "     .  148 

XXIX.  "  The  one  that  could  repeat  the  summer  day  "  149 

XXX.  The  Wind's  Visit 150 

XXXI.  "  Nature  rarer  uses  yellow  " 152 

XXXII.  Gossip 153 

XXXIII.  Simplicity 154 

XXXIV.  Storm 155 

XXXV.  The  Rat 156 

XXXVI.  "  Frequently  the  woods  are  pink  "       ...  157 

XXXVII.  A  Thunder-Storm  158 


I4  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

XXXVIII.     With  Flowers 160 

XXXIX.     Sunset 161 

XL.  "  She  sweeps  with  many-colored  brooms  ''  .  162 

XLI.  "Like  mighty  footlights  burned  the  red  "     .  163 

XLII.     Problems 164 

XLIII.     The  Juggler  of  Day 166 

XLIV.     My  Cricket 167 

XLV.     "  As  imperceptibly  as  grief " 168 

XLVI.  "  It  can't  be  summer,  —  that  got  through  "  .  169 

XLVII.     Summer's  Obsequies 170 

XLVIII.     Fringed  Gentian 172 

XLIX.     November 173 

L.     The  Snow 174 

LI,    The  Blue  Jay 176 

BOOK   IV.  — TIME   AND   ETERNITY. 

I.  "  Let  down  the  bars,  O  Death !"     .     .     .    .  181 

II.     "  Going  to  heaven  !  " 182 

III.  "At  least  to  pray  is  left,  is  left  "     ....  184 

IV.  Epitaph 185 

V.     "  Morns  like  these  we  parted  " 186 

VI.  "  A  death-blow  is  a  life-blow  to  some  "    .    .  187 

VII.     "  I  read  my  sentence  steadily  " 188 

VIII.  "  I  have  not  told  my  garden  yet  "   .     .     .    .  189 

IX.    The  Battle-Field 190 


CONTENTS.  I5 

PAGE 

X.     "  The  only  ghost  I  ever  saw  " 191 

XI.  "  Some,  too  fragile  for  winter  winds  "      .     .  192 

XII.  "As  by  the  dead  we  love  to  sit"     .    .    .    .  193 

XIII.  Memorials 194 

XIV.  "  I  went  to  heaven  " 196 

XV.  "  Their  height  in  heaven  comforts  not "  .     .  197 

XVI.  "  There  is  a  shame  of  nobleness  "  ....  198 

XVII.  Triumph 199 

XVIII.  "  Pompless  no  life  can  pass  away "  .  .  .  200 

XIX.  "  I  noticed  people  disappeared  "  ....  201 

XX.  Following 202 

XXI.  "  If  anybody's  friend  be  dead  " 204 

XXII.  The  Journey 206 

XXIII.  A  Country  Burial 207 

XXIV.  Going 208 

XXV.     "Essential  oils  are  wrung" 210 

XXVI.  "  I  lived  on  dread ;  to  those  who  know  "      .  211 

XXVII.     "If  I  should  die" 212 

XXVIII.    At  Length 213 

XXIX.    Ghosts 214 

XXX.     Vanished 216 

XXXI.    Precedence 217 

XXXII.     Gone 218 

XXXIII.  Requiem 220 

XXXIV.  "What  inn  is  this?" 221 

XXXV.  "  It  was  not  death,  for  I  stood  up  "     .    .     .  222 


i6 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


XXXVI.    Till  the  End     

XXXVII.    Void    

XXXVIII.    "  A  throe  upon  the  features  "... 

.     .    226 

XXXIX.     Saved            

227 

XL     "  I  think  just  how  my  shape  will  rise  " 
XLI.    The  Forgotten  Grave         

.       228 
22Q 

XLII.     "  Lav  this  laurel  on  the  one  " 

,      210 

\/fY  nosegays  are  for  captives ; 

Dim,  long-expectant  eyes, 
Fingers  denied  the  plucking, 
Patient  till  paradise. 

To  such,   if  they  should  whisper 
Of  morning  and  the  moor, 

They  bear  no  other  errand, 
And  /,  no  other  prayer. 


I. 

LIFE. 


POEMS. 


L 


T  'M  nobody  !     Who  are  you? 

Are  you  nobody,  too? 
Then  there  's  a  pair  of  us  —  don't  tell  t 
They  'd  banish  us,  you  know. 

How  dreary  to  be  somebody  ! 
How  public,  like  a  frog 
To  tell  your  name  the  livelong  day 
To  an  admiring  bog  ! 


22  POEMS. 


II. 


T  BRING  an  unaccustomed  wine 

To  lips  long  parching,  next  to  mine, 
And  summon  them  to  drink. 

Crackling  with  fever,  they  essay ; 
I  turn  my  brimming  eyes  away, 
And  come  next  hour  to  look. 

The  hands  still  hug  the  tardy  glass ; 
The  lips  I  would  have  cooled,  alas  ! 
Are  so  superfluous  cold, 

I  would  as  soon  attempt  to  warm 
The  bosoms  where  the  frost  has  lain 
Ages  beneath  the  mould. 

Some  other  thirsty  there  may  be 

To  whom  this  would  have  pointed  me 

Had  it  remained  to  speak. 


POEMS. 

And  so  I  always  bear  the  cup 
If,  haply,  mine  may  be  the  drop 
Some  pilgrim  thirst  to  slake,  — 

If,  haply,  any  say  to  me, 
"Unto  the  little,  unto  me," 
When  I  at  last  awake. 


24  POEMS. 


III. 

nearest  dream  recedes,  unrealized, 

The  heaven  we  chase 

Like  the  June  bee 

Before  the  school-boy 

Invites  the  race ; 

Stoops  to  an  easy  clover  — 
Dips  —  evades  —  teases  —  deploys ; 

Then  to  the  royal  clouds 

Lifts  his  light  pinnace 

Heedless  of  the  boy 
Staring,  bewildered,  at  the  mocking  sky. 

Homesick  for  steadfast  honey, 
Ah  !  the  bee  flies  not 
That  brews  that  rare  variety. 


POEMS.  25 


IV. 

"IWE  play  at  paste, 

V  V      Till  qualified  for  pearl, 
Then  drop  the  paste, 
And  deem  ourself  a  fool. 
The  shapes,  though,  were  similar, 
And  our  new  hands 
Learned  gem-tactics 
Practising  sands. 


26  POEMS. 


V. 


T   FOUND  the  phrase  to  every  thought 

I  ever  had,  but  one ; 
And  that  defies  me,  —  as  a  hand 
Did  try  to  chalk  the  sun 

To  races  nurtured  in  the  dark ;  — 
How  would  your  own  begin  ? 
Can  blaze  be  done  in  cochineal, 
Or  noon  in  mazarin? 


POEMS. 

VI. 
HOPE. 

IT  OPE  is  the  thing  with  feathers 

That  perches  in  the  soul, 
And  sings  the  tune  without  the  words, 
And  never  stops  at  all, 

And  sweetest  in  the  gale  is  heard ; 
And  sore  must  be  the  storm 
That  could  abash  the  little  bird 
That  kept  so  many  warm. 

I  Ve  heard  it  in  the  chillest  land, 
And  on  the  strangest  sea ; 
Yet,  never,  in  extremity, 
It  asked  a  crumb  of  me. 


27 


28  POEMS. 

VII. 
THE   WHITE   HEAT. 


you  see  a  soul  at  the  white  heal 
Then  crouch  within  the  door. 
Red  is  the  fire's  common  tint  ; 
But  when  the  vivid  ore 

Has  sated  flame's  conditions, 

Its  quivering  substance  plays 
Without  a  color  but  the  light 

Of  unanointed  blaze. 

Least  village  boasts  its  blacksmith, 

Whose  anvil's  even  din 
Stands  symbol  for  the  finer  forge 

That  soundless  tugs  within, 

Refining  these  impatient  ores 
With  hammer  and  with  blaze, 

Until  the  designated  light 
Repudiate  the  forge. 


POEMS. 

VIII. 
TRIUMPHANT. 

"\  ^  7HO  never  lost,  are  unprepared 

A  coronet  to  find ; 
Who  never  thirsted,  flagons 
And  cooling  tamarind. 

Who  never  climbed  the  weary  league 
Can  such  a  foot  explore 
The  purple  territories 
On  Pizarro's  shore? 

How  many  legions  overcome  ? 
The  emperor  will  say. 
How  many  colors  taken 
On  Revolution  Day? 

How  many  bullets  bearest? 
The  royal  scar  hast  thou  ? 
Angels,  write  "  Promoted  " 
OB  this  soldier's  brow  ! 


29 


30  POEMS. 


IX. 

THE  TEST. 

T   CAN  wade  grief, 
*     Whole  pools  of  it,  — 
I  'm  used  to  that. 
But  the  least  push  of  joy 
Breaks  up  my  feet, 
And  I  tip  —  drunken. 
Let  no  pebble  smile, 
'T  was  the  new  liquor,  — 
That  was  all ! 

Power  is  only  pain, 

Stranded,  through  discipline, 

Till  weights  will  hang. 

Give  balm  to  giants, 

And  they  '11  wilt,  like  men. 

Give  Himmaleh,  — 

They  '11  carry  him  ! 


POEMS.  31 


ESCAPE. 

T   NEVER  hear  the  word  "escape  " 

Without  a  quicker  blood, 
A  sudden  expectation, 
A  flying  attitude. 

I  never  hear  of  prisons  broad 
By  soldiers  battered  down, 
But  I  tug  childish  at  my  bars,  — 
Only  to  fail  again  ! 


32  POEMS. 


XL 

COMPENSATION. 

R  each  ecstatic  instant 
We  must  an  anguish  pay 
In  keen  and  quivering  ratio 
To  the  ecstasy. 

For  each  beloved  hour 
Sharp  pittances  of  years, 
Bitter  contested  farthings 
And  coffers  heaped  with  tears. 


POEMS. 

XII. 

THE    MARTYRS. 

'"THROUGH  the  straight  pass  of  suffering 

The  martyrs  even  trod, 
Their  feet  upon  temptation, 
Their  faces  upon  God. 

A  stately,  shriven  company ; 
Convulsion  playing  round, 
Harmless  as  streaks  of  meteor 
Upon  a  planet's  bound. 

Their  faith  the  everlasting  troth ; 
Their  expectation  fair ; 
The  needle  to  the  north  degree 
Wades  so,  through  polar  air. 


34  POEMS. 


XIII. 
A  PRAYER. 

T   MEANT  to  have  but  modest  needs, 

Such  as  content,  and  heaven ; 
Within  my  income  these  could  lie, 
And  life  and  I  keep  even. 

But  since  the  last  included  both, 
It  would  suffice  my  prayer 
But  just  for  one  to  stipulate, 
And  grace  would  grant  the  pair. 

And  so,  upon  this  wise  I  prayed,  — • 
Great  Spirit,  give  to  me 
A  heaven  not  so  large  as  yours, 
But  large  enough  for  me. 

A  smile  suffused  Jehovah's  face  ; 
The  cherubim  withdrew ; 
Grave  saints  stole  out  to  look  at  me, 
And  showed  their  dimples,  too. 


POEMS. 

I  left  the  place  with  all  my  might,  — 
My  prayer  away  I  threw ; 
The  quiet  ages  picked  it  up, 
And  Judgment  twinkled,  too, 

That  one  so  honest  be  extant 
As  take  the  tale  for  true 
That  "  Whatsoever  you  shall  ask, 
Itself  be  given  you." 

But  I,  grown  shrewder,  scan  the  skies 
With  a  suspicious  air,  — 
As  children,  swindled  for  the  first, 
All  swindlers  be,  infer. 


35 


36  POEMS. 


XIV. 

'T'HE  thought  beneath  so  slight  a  film 

Is  more  distinctly  seen,  — 
As  laces  just  reveal  the  surge, 
Or  mists  the  Apennine. 


POEMS.  37 


XV. 

HTHE  soul  unto  itself 

Is  an  imperial  friend,  — 
Or  the  most  agonizing  spy 
An  enemy  could  send. 

Secure  against  its  own, 
No  treason  it  can  fear ; 
Itself  its  sovereign,  of  itself 
The  soul  should  stand  in  awe. 


38  POEMS. 


XVI. 

URGEONS  must  be  very  careful 

When  they  take  the  knife  ! 
Underneath  their  fine  incisions 
Stirs  the  culprit,  —  Life  ! 


POEMS.  39 

XVII. 
THE   RAILWAY  TRAIN. 

T  LIKE  to  see  it  lap  the  miles, 

A     And  lick  the  valleys  up, 
And  stop  to  feed  itself  at  tanks ; 
And  then,  prodigious,  step 

Around  a  pile  of  mountains, 
And,  supercilious,  peer 
In  shanties  by  the  sides  of  roads ; 
And  then  a  quarry  pare 

To  fit  its  sides,  and  crawl  between, 
Complaining  all  the  while 
In  horrid,  hooting  stanza ; 
Then  chase  itself  down  hill 

And  neigh  like  Boanerges ; 
Then,  punctual  as  a  star, 
Stop  —  docile  and  omnipotent  — 
At  its  own  stable  door. 


4o  POEMS. 


XVIII. 
THE   SHOW. 

HPHE  show  is  not  the  show, 
A      But  they  that  go. 
Menagerie  to  me 
My  neighbor  be. 
Fair  play  — 
Both  went  to  see. 


POEMS.  41 


XIX. 

"p\ELIGHT  becomes  pictorial 
••^     When  viewed  through  pain,  — 
More  fair,  because  impossible 
That  any  gain. 

The  mountain  at  a  given  distance 
In  amber  lies  ; 

Approached,  the  amber  flits  a  little, — 
And  that 's  the  skies  ! 


42  POEMS. 


XX. 

A    THOUGHT  went  up  my  mind  to-day 
^     That  I  have  had  before, 
But  did  not  finish,  —  some  way  back, 
I  could  not  fix  the  year, 

Nor  where  it  went,  nor  why  it  came 
The  second  time  to  me, 
Nor  definitely  what  it  was, 
Have  I  the  art  to  say. 

But  somewhere  in  my  soul,  I  know 
I  Ve  met  the  thing  before ; 
It  just  reminded  me  —  't  was  all  — 
And  came  my  way  no  more. 


POEMS.  43 


XXL 

TS  Heaven  a  physician? 
•*•     They  say  that  He  can  heal ; 
But  medicine  posthumous 
Is  unavailable. 

Is  Heaven  an  exchequer? 

They  speak  of  what  we  owe  ; 
But  that  negotiation 

I  'm  not  a  party  to. 


44 


POEMS. 

XXII. 
THE   RETURN. 

THROUGH  I  get  home  how  late,  how  late  ! 

So  I  get  home,  't  will  compensate. 
Better  will  be  the  ecstasy 
That  they  have  done  expecting  me, 
When,  night  descending,  dumb  and  dark, 
They  hear  my  unexpected  knock. 
Transporting  must  the  moment  be, 
Brewed  from  decades  of  agony  ! 

To  think  just  how  the  fire  will  burn, 
Just  how  long-cheated  eyes  will  turn 
To  wonder  what  myself  will  say, 
And  what  itself  will  say  to  me, 
Beguiles  the  centuries  of  way  ! 


POEMS.  45 


XXIII. 

A    POOR  torn  heart,  a  tattered  heart, 
**     That  sat  it  down  to  rest, 
Nor  noticed  that  the  ebbing  day 
Flowed  silver  to  the  west, 
Nor  noticed  night  did  soft  descend 
Nor  constellation  burn, 
Intent  upon  the  vision 
Of  latitudes  unknown. 

The  angels,  happening  that  way, 
This  dusty  heart  espied ; 
Tenderly  took  it  up  from  toil 
And  carried  it  to  God. 
There,  -  -  sandals  for  the  barefoot ; 
There,  —  gathered  from  the  gales, 
Do  the  blue  havens  by  the  hand 
Lead  the  wandering  sails. 


46  POEMS. 

XXIV. 
TOO  MUCH. 

J  SHOULD  have  been  too  glad,  I  see, 
Too  lifted  for  the  scant  degree 

Of  life's  penurious  round ; 
My  little  circuit  would  have  shamed 
This  new  circumference,  have  blamed 

The  homelier  time  behind. 

I  should  have  been  too  saved,  I  see, 
Too  rescued  ;  fear  too  dim  to  me 

That  I  could  spell  the  prayer 
I  knew  so  perfect  yesterday,  — 
That  scalding  one,  "  Sabachthani,  " 

Recited  fluent  here. 

Earth  would  have  been  too  much,  I  see, 
And  heaven  not  enough  for  me ; 

I  should  have  had  the  joy 
Without  the  fear  to  justify, — 
The  palm  without  the  Calvary ; 

So,  Saviour,  crucify. 


POEMS. 

Defeat  whets  victory,  they  say ; 
The  reefs  in  old  Gethsemane 

Endear  the  shore  beyond. 
T  is  beggars  banquets  best  define 
'T  is  thirsting  vitalizes  wine,  — 

Faith  faints  to  understand. 


47 


48  POEMS. 

XXV. 
SHIPWRECK. 

T  T  tossed  and  tossed,  — 

A  little  brig  I  knew,  — 
O'ertook  by  blast, 
It  spun  and  spun, 
And  groped  delirious,  for  morn. 

It  slipped  and  slipped, 
As  one  that  drunken  stepped  ; 
Its  white  foot  tripped, 
Then  dropped  from  sight. 

Ah,  brig,  good-night 

To  crew  and  you  ; 

The  ocean's  heart  too  smooth,  too  blue, 

To  break  for  you. 


POEMS.  49 


XXVI. 

WICTORY  comes  late, 

And  is  held  low  to  freezing  lips 
Too  rapt  with  frost 
To  take  it. 

How  sweet  it  would  have  tasted, 
Just  a  drop  ! 

Was  God  so  economical? 
His  table  's  spread  too  high  for  us 
Unless  we  dine  on  tip-toe. 
Crumbs  fit  such  little  mouths, 
Cherries  suit  robins ; 
The  eagle's  golden  breakfast 
Strangles  them. 

God  keeps  his  oath  to  sparrows, 
Who  of  little  love 
Know  how  to  starve  ! 


5o  POEMS. 


XXVII. 
ENOUGH. 

C*  OD  gave  a  loaf  to  every  bird, 

But  just  a  crumb  to  me  ; 
I  dare  not  eat  it,  though  I  starve,  — 
My  poignant  luxury 
To  own  it,  touch  it,  prove  the  feat 
That  made  the  pellet  mine,  — 
Too  happy  in  my  sparrow  chance 
For  ampler  coveting. 

It  might  be  famine  all  around, 

I  could  not  miss  an  ear, 

Such  plenty  smiles  upon  my  board, 

My  garner  shows  so  fair. 

I  wonder  how  the  rich  may  feel,  — 

An  Indiaman  —  an  Earl  ? 

I  deem  that  I  with  but  a  crumb 

Am  sovereign  of  them  all. 


POEMS. 


XXVIII. 

EXPERIMENT  to  me 

Is  every  one  I  meet. 
If  it  contain  a  kernel  ? 
The  figure  of  a  nut 

Presents  upon  a  tree, 
Equally  plausibly ; 
But  meat  within  is  requisite, 
To  squirrels  and  to  me. 


POEMS. 

XXIX. 
MY  COUNTRY'S  WARDROBE. 

1\/T  Y  country  need  not  change  her  gown, 
^•*>     Her  triple  suit  as  sweet 
As  when  't  was  cut  at  Lexington, 
And  first  pronounced  "  a  fit." 

Great  Britain  disapproves  "the  stars ;  " 
Disparagement  discreet,  — 
There  's  something  in  their  attitude 
That  taunts  her  bayonet. 


POEMS.  53 


XXX. 

is  a  fine  invention 
For  gentlemen  who  see ; 
But  microscopes  are  prudent 
In  an  emergency ! 


54  POEMS. 


XXXI. 

the  heaven  had  come  so  near, 
So  seemed  to  choose  my  door, 
The  distance  would  not  haunt  me  so  : 
I  had  not  hoped  before. 

But  just  to  hear  the  grace  depart 
I  never  thought  to  see, 
Afflicts  me  with  a  double  loss ; 
'T  is  lost,  and  lost  to  me. 


POEMS. 


55 


XXXII. 


PORTRAITS  are  to  daily  faces 

As  an  evening  west 
To  a  fine,  pedantic  sunshine 
In  a  satin  vest. 


56  POEMS. 


XXXIII. 

THE   DUEL. 

ft 

TOOK  my  power  in  my  hand 
And  went  against  the  world ; 
T  was  not  so  much  as  David  had, 
But  I  was  twice  as  bold. 

I  aimed  my  pebble,  but  myself 
Was  all  the  one  that  fell. 
Was  it  Goliath  was  too  large, 
Or  only  I  too  small  ? 


POEMS.  57 


XXXIV. 

A    SHADY  friend  for  torrid  days 
**     Is  easier  to  find 
Than  one  of  higher  temperature 
For  frigid  hour  of  mind. 

The  vane  a  little  to  the  east 
Scares  muslin  souls  away ; 
If  broadcloth  breasts  are  firmer 
Than  those  of  organdy, 

Who  is  to  blame  ?     The  weaver  ? 
Ah  !  the  bewildering  thread  ! 
The  tapestries  of  paradise 
So  notelessly  are  made  ! 


58  POEMS. 


XXXV. 
THE    GOAL. 

"C*ACH  life  converges  to  some  centre 
**""*     Expressed  or  still ; 
Exists  in  every  human  nature 
A  goal, 


Admitted  scarcely  to  itself,  it  may  be, 

Too  fair 

For  credibility's  temerity 

To  dare. 


Adored  with  caution,  as  a  brittle  heaven, 
To  reach 

Were  hopeless  as  the  rainbow's  raiment 
To  touch, 


POEMS. 


59 


Yet  persevered  toward,  surer  for  the  distance  ; 

How  high 

Unto  the  saints'  slow  diligence 

The  sky ! 

Ungained,  it  may  be,  by  a  life's  low  venture, 

But  then, 

Eternity  enables  the  endeavoring 

Again. 


60  POEMS. 


XXXVI. 
SIGHT. 

"DEFORE  I  got  my  eye  put  out, 

I  liked  as  well  to  see 
As  other  creatures  that  have  eyes, 
And  know  no  other  way. 

But  were  it  told  to  me,  to-day, 
That  I  might  have  the  sky 
For  mine,  I  tell  you  that  my  heart 
Would  split,  for  size  of  me. 

The  meadows  mine,  the  mountains  mine, 
All  forests,  stintless  stars, 
As  much  of  noon  as  I  could  take 
Between  my  finite  eyes. 


POEMS.  6 1 

The  motions  of  the  dipping  birds, 
The  lightning's  jointed  road, 
For  mine  to  look  at  when  I  liked,  — 
The  news  would  strike  me  dead  ! 

So,  safer,  guess,  with  just  my  soul 
Upon  the  window-pane 
Where  other  creatures  put  their  eyes, 
Incautious  of  the  sun. 


62  POEMS. 


XXXVII. 

''"TALK  with  prudence  to  a  beggar 

Of '  Potosi '  and  the  mines  ! 
Reverently  to  the  hungry 
Of  your  viands  and  your  wines  ! 

Cautious,  hint  to  any  captive 

You  have  passed  enfranchised  feet ! 

Anecdotes  of  air  in  dungeons 

Have  sometimes  proved  deadly  sweet ! 


POEMS.  63 

XXXVIII. 
THE   PREACHER. 

TT  E  preached  upon  "  breadth  "  till  it  argued 

him  narrow, — 

The  broad  are  too  broad  to  define ; 
And  of  "  truth  "  until  it  proclaimed  him  a  liar,  — 
The  truth  never  flaunted  a  sign. 

Simplicity  fled  from  his  counterfeit  presence 
As  gold  the  pyrites  would  shun. 
What  confusion  would  cover  the  innocent  Jesus 
To  meet  so  enabled  a  man ! 


64  POEMS. 


XXXIX. 

night!   which  put  the  candle  out? 
A  jealous  zephyr,  not  a  doubt, 
Ah  !  friend,  you  little  knew 
How  long  at  that  celestial  wick 
The  angels  labored  diligent ; 
Extinguished,  now,  for  you  ! 

It  might  have  been  the  lighthouse  spark 
Some  sailor,  rowing  in  the  dark, 

Had  importuned  to  see  ! 
It  might  have  been  the  waning  lamp 
That  lit  the  drummer  from  the  camp 

To  purer  reveille  ! 


POEMS.  65 


XL. 

V\7 HEN  I  hoped  I  feared, 

Since  I  hoped  I  dared ; 
Everywhere  alone 
As  a  church  remain  ; 
Spectre  cannot  harm, 
Serpent  cannot  charm ; 
He  deposes  doom, 
Who  hath  suffered  him. 


66  POEMS. 

XLL 
DEED. 


A 


DEED  knocks  first  at  thought, 

And  then  it  knocks  at  will. 
That  is  the  manufacturing  spot, 
And  will  at  home  and  well. 


It  then  goes  out  an  act, 
Or  is  entombed  so  still 
That  only  to  the  ear  of  God 
Its  doom  is  audible. 


POEMS.  67 


XLII. 
TIME'S  LESSON. 

TV/TINE  enemy  is  growing  old,  - 

I  have  at  last  revenge. 
The  palate  of  the  hate  departs ; 
If  any  would  avenge,  — 

Let  him  be  quick,  the  viand  flits, 
It  is  a  faded  meat. 
Anger  as  soon  as  fed  is  dead ; 
T  is  starving  makes  it  fat. 


68  POEMS. 

XLIII. 
REMORSE. 

"D  EMORSE  is  memory  awake, 

Her  companies  astir,  — 
A  presence  of  departed  acts 
At  window  and  at  door. 

It 's  past  set  down  before  the  soul, 
And  lighted  with  a  match, 
Perusal  to  facilitate 
Of  its  condensed  despatch. 

Remorse  is  cureless,  —  the  disease 
Not  even  God  can  heal ; 
For  't  is  his  institution,  — 
The  complement  of  hell. 


POEMS.  69 


XLIV. 
THE  SHELTER. 


T^HE  body  grows  outside,  — 

The  more  convenient  way, 
That  if  the  spirit  like  to  hide, 
Its  temple  stands  alway 

Ajar,  secure,  inviting  ; 

It  never  did  betray 

The  soul  that  asked  its  shelter 

In  timid  honesty. 


7o 


POEMS. 


XLV. 

UNDUE  significance  a  starving  man  attaches 
To  food 

Far  off;  he  sighs,  and  therefore  hopeless, 
And  therefore  good. 

Partaken,  it  relieves  indeed,  but  proves  us 
That  spices  fly 

In  the  receipt.     It  was  the  distance 
Was  savory. 


POEMS.  71 


XLVI. 

T  T  EART  not  so  heavy  as  mine, 
-*-  -••      Wending  late  home, 
As  it  passed  my  window 
Whistled  itself  a  tune,  — 

A  careless  snatch,  a  ballad, 
A  ditty  of  the  street ; 
Yet  to  my  irritated  ear 
An  anodyne  so  sweet, 

It  was  as  if  a  bobolink, 
Sauntering  this  way, 
Carolled  and  mused  and  carolled, 
Then  bubbled  slow  away. 


72  POEMS. 


It  was  as  if  a  chirping  brook 
Upon  a  toilsome  way 
Set  bleeding  feet  to  minuets 
Without  the  knowing  why. 

To-morrow,  night  will  come  again, 
Weary,  perhaps,  and  sore. 
Ah,  bugle,  by  my  window, 
I  pray  you  stroll  once  more  ! 


POEMS. 


73 


XLVII. 

T  MANY  times  thought  peace  had  come, 

When  peace  was  far  away ; 
As  wrecked  men  deem  they  sight  the  land 
At  centre  of  the  sea, 

And  struggle  slacker,  but  to  prove, 
As  hopelessly  as  I, 
How  many  the  fictitious  shores 
Before  the  harbor  lie. 


74  POEMS. 


XLVIII. 


T  INTO  my  books  so  good  to  turn 
^      Far  ends  of  tired  days ; 
It  half  endears  the  abstinence, 
And  pain  is  missed  in  praise. 

As  flavors  cheer  retarded  guests 
With  banquetings  to  be, 
So  spices  stimulate  the  time 
Till  my  small  library. 

It  may  be  wilderness  without, 
Far  feet  of  failing  men, 
But  holiday  excludes  the  night, 
And  it  is  bells  within. 

I  thank  these  kinsmen  of  the  shelf; 
Their  countenances  bland 
Enamour  in  prospective, 
And  satisfy,  obtained. 


POEMS.  75 


XLIX. 

HTHIS  merit  hath  the  worst,  — 

It  cannot  be  again. 
When  Fate  hath  taunted  last 
And  thrown  her  furthest  stone, 

The  maimed  may  pause  and  breathe, 
And  glance  securely  round. 
The  deer  invites  no  longer 
Than  it  eludes  the  hound. 


76  POEMS. 


L. 

HUNGER. 

T  HAD  been  hungry  all  the  years ; 

My  noon  had  come,  to  dine  ; 
I,  trembling,  drew  the  table  near, 
And  touched  the  curious  wine. 

'Twas  this  on  tables  I  had  seen, 
When  turning,  hungry,  lone, 
I  looked  in  windows,  for  the  wealth 
I  could  not  hope  to  own. 

I  did  not  know  the  ample  bread, 
T  was  so  unlike  the  crumb 
The  birds  and  I  had  often  shared 
In  Nature's  dining-room. 


POEMS. 

The  plenty  hurt  me,  't  was  so  new.  — 
Myself  felt  ill  and  odd, 
As  berry  of  a  mountain  bush 
Transplanted  to  the  road. 

Nor  was  I  hungry ;  so  I  found 
That  hunger  was  a  way 
Of  persons  outside  windows, 
The  entering  takes  away. 


77 


78  POEMS. 


LI. 

T  GAINED  it  so, 

By  climbing  slow, 
By  catching  at  the  twigs  that  grow 
Between  the  bliss  and  me. 

It  hung  so  high, 

As  well  the  sky 

Attempt  by  strategy. 

I  said  I  gained  it,  — 

This  was  all. 
Look,  how  I  clutch  it, 

Lest  it  fall, 
And  I  a  pauper  go ; 
Unfitted  by  an  instant's  grace 
For  the  contented  beggar's  face 
I  wore  an  hour  ago. 


POEMS.  79 


LII. 

nrO  learn  the  transport  by  the  pain. 

As  blind  men  learn  the  sun ; 
To  die  of  thirst,  suspecting 
That  brooks  in  meadows  run ; 

To  stay  the  homesick,  homesick  feet 
Upon  a  foreign  shore 
Haunted  by  native  lands,  the  while, 
And  blue,  beloved  air  — 

This  is  the  sovereign  anguish, 
This,  the  signal  woe  ! 
These  are  the  patient  laureates 
Whose  voices,  trained  below, 

Ascend  in  ceaseless  carol, 
Inaudible,  indeed, 
To  us,  the  duller  scholars 
Of  the  mysterious  bard  ! 


8o  POEMS. 

LIII. 
RETURNING. 

T  YEARS  had  been  from  home, 

And  now,  before  the  door, 
I  dared  not  open,  lest  a  face 
I  never  saw  before 

Stare  vacant  into  mine 
And  ask  my  business  there. 
My  business,  —  just  a  life  I  left, 
Was  such  still  dwelling  there  ? 

I  fumbled  at  my  nerve, 
I  scanned  the  windows  near ; 
The  silence  like  an  ocean  rolled, 
And  broke  against  my  ear. 

I  laughed  a  wooden  laugh 

That  I  could  fear  a  door, 

Who  danger  and  the  dead  had  faced, 

But  never  quaked  before. 


POEMS.  8 1 

I  fitted  to  the  latch 

My  hand,  with  trembling  care, 

Lest  back  the  awful  door  should  spring, 

And  leave  me  standing  there. 

I  moved  my  fingers  off 

As  cautiously  as  glass, 

And  held  my  ears,  and  like  a  thief 

Fled  gasping  from  the  house. 


82  POEMS. 


LIV. 
PRAYER. 

"DRAYER  is  the  little  implement 
•*•       Through  which  men  reach 
Where  presence  is  denied  them. 
They  fling  their  speech 

By  means  of  it  in  God's  ear ; 
If  then  He  hear, 
This  sums  the  apparatus 
Comprised  in  prayer. 


POEMS.  83 


LV. 

T   KNOW  that  he  exists 

Somewhere,  in  silence. 
He  has  hid  his  rare  life 
From  our  gross  eyes. 

Tis  an  instant's  play, 
'T  is  a  fond  ambush, 
Just  to  make  bliss 
Earn  her  own  surprise  ! 

But  should  the  play 
Prove  piercing  earnest, 
Should  the  glee  glaze 
In  death's  stiff  stare, 

Would  not  the  fiin 
Look  too  expensive  ? 
Would  not  the  jest 
Have  crawled  too  far? 


84  POEMS. 

LVI. 
MELODIES  UNHEARD. 

TV/I  USICIANS  wrestle  everywhere  : 

All  day,  among  the  crowded  air, 

I  hear  the  silver  strife ; 
And  —  waking  long  before  the  dawn  — 
Such  transport  breaks  upon  the  town 

I  think  it  that  "  new  life  !  " 

It  is  not  bird,  it  has  no  nest ; 

Nor  band,  in  brass  and  scarlet  dressed, 

Nor  tambourine,  nor  man ; 
It  is  not  hymn  from  pulpit  read,  — 
The  morning  stars  the  treble  led 

On  time's  first  afternoon  ! 

Some  say  it  is  the  spheres  at  play ! 
Some  say  that  bright  majority 

Of  vanished  dames  and  men  ! 
Some  think  it  service  in  the  place 
Where  we,  with  late,  celestial  face, 

Please  God,  shall  ascertain  ! 


POEMS. 

LVII. 
CALLED  BACK. 

JUST  lost  when  I  was  saved  ! 
Just  felt  the  world  go  by  ! 
Just  girt  me  for  the  onset  with  eternity, 
When  breath  blew  back, 
And  on  the  other  side 
I  heard  recede  the  disappointed  tide  ! 

Therefore,  as  one  returned,  I  feel, 
Odd  secrets  of  the  line  to  tell ! 
Some  sailor,  skirting  foreign  shores, 
Some  pale  reporter  from  the  awful  doors 
Before  the  seal ! 

Next  time,  to  stay  ! 
Next  time,  the  things  to  see 
By  ear  unheard, 
Unscrutinized  by  eye. 


86  POEMS. 


Next  time,  to  tarry, 
While  the  ages  steal,  — 
Slow  tramp  the  centuries, 
And  the  cycles  wheel. 


II. 

LOVE. 


POEMS.  89 


I. 

CHOICE. 

all  the  souls  that  stand  create 

I  have  elected  one. 
When  sense  from  spirit  files  away, 
And  subterfuge  is  done ; 

When  that  which  is  and  that  which  was 

Apart,  intrinsic,  stand, 

And  this  brief  tragedy  of  flesh 

Is  shifted  like  a  sand ; 

When  figures  show  their  royal  front 
And  mists  are  carved  away,  — 
Behold  the  atom  I  preferred 
To  all  the  lists  of  clay  ! 


90  POEMS. 


II. 

T  HAVE  no  life  but  this, 

To  lead  it  here ; 
Nor  any  death,  but  lest 
Dispelled  from  there ; 

Nor  tie  to  earths  to  come, 
Nor  action  new, 
Except  through  this  extent, 
The  realm  of  you. 


POEMS. 


III. 

\7OUR  riches  taught  me  poverty.    . 

Myself  a  millionnaire 
In  little  wealths,  —  as  girls  could  boast, 
Till  broad  as  Buenos  Ayre, 

You  drifted  your  dominions 
A  different  Peru ; 
And  I  esteemed  all  poverty, 
For  life's  estate  with  you. 

Of  mines  I  little  know,  myself, 
But  just  the  names  of  gems,  — 
The  colors  of  the  commonest ; 
And  scarce  of  diadems 

So  much  that,  did  I  meet  the  queen, 
Her  glory  I  should  know  : 
But  this  must  be  a  different  wealth, 
To  miss  it  beggars  so. 


92  POKMS. 

I  'm  sure  't  is  India  all  day 
To  those  who  look  on  you 
Without  a  stint,  without  a  blame,  — 

Might  I  but  be  the  Jew  ! 

» 

I  'm  sure  it  is  Golconda, 
Beyond  my  power  to  deem,  — 
To  have  a  smile  for  mine  each  day, 
How  better  than  a  gem  ! 

At  least,  it  solaces  to  know 
That  there  exists  a  gold, 
Although  I  prove  it  just  in  time 
Its  distance  to  behold  ! 

It 's  far,  far  treasure  to  surmise, 
And  estimate  the  pearl 
That  slipped  my  simple  fingers  through 
While  just  a  girl  at  school ! 


POEMS.  93 


IV. 
THE  CONTRACT. 

T    GAVE  myself  to  him, 

And  took  himself  for  pay. 
The  solemn  contract  of  a  life 
Was  ratified  this  way. 

The  wealth  might  disappoint, 
Myself  a  poorer  prove 
Than  this  great  purchaser  suspect, 
The  daily  own"  of  Love 

Depreciate  the  vision; 
But,  till  the  merchant  buy, 
Still  fable,  in  the  isles  of  spice, 
The  subtle  cargoes  lie. 

At  least,  't  is  mutual  risk,  — 

Some  found  it  mutual  gain ; 

Sweet  debt  of  Life,  —  each  night  to  owe, 

Insolvent,  every  noon. 


94  POEMS. 


V. 
THE  LETTER. 

OING  to  him  !  Happy  letter  !  Tell  him  — 

Tell  him  the  page  I  did  n't  write ; 
Tell  him  I  only  said  the  syntax, 
And  left  the  verb  and  the  pronoun  out. 
Tell  him  just  how  the  ringers  hurried, 
Then  how  they  waded,  slow,  slow,  slow ; 
And  then  you  wished  you  had  eyes  in  your  pages, 
So  you  could  see  what  moved  them  so. 

"  Tell  him  it  was  n't  a  practised  writer, 

You  guessed,  from  the  way  the  sentence  toiled ; 

You  could  hear  the  bodice  tug,  behind  you, 

As  if  it  held  but  the  might  of  a  child ; 

You  almost  pitied  it,  you,  it  worked  so. 

Tell  him  —     No,  you  may  quibble  there, 

For  it  would  split  his  heart  to  know  it, 

And  then  you  and  I  were  silenter. 


POEMS. 

"  Tell  him  night  finished  before  we  finished, 

And  the  old  clock  kept  neighing  '  day  ! ' 

And  you  got  sleepy  and  begged  to  be  ended  — 

What  could  it  hinder  so,  to  say? 

Tell  him  just  how  she  sealed  you,  cautious, 

But  if  he  ask  where  you  are  hid 

Until  to-morrow,  —  happy  letter  ! 

Gesture,  coquette,  and  shake  your  head  !  " 


96  POEMS. 


VI. 

HTHE  way  I  read  a  letter 's  this : 

T  is  first  I  lock  the  door, 
And  push  it  with  my  fingers  next, 
For  transport  it  be  sure. 

And  then  I  go  the  furthest  off 
To  counteract  a  knock ; 
Then  draw  my  little  letter  forth 
And  softly  pick  its  lock. 

Then,  glancing  narrow  at  the  wall, 
And  narrow  at  the  floor, 
For  firm  conviction  of  a  mouse 
Not  exorcised  before, 

Peruse  how  infinite  I  am 

To  —  no  one  that  you  know  ! 

And  sigh  for  lack  of  heaven,  —  but  not 

The  heaven  the  creeds  bestow. 


POEMS. 


VII. 

T1HLD  nights  !     Wild  nights  ! 
VV      Were  I  with  thee, 
Wild  nights  should  be 
Our  luxury ! 

Futile  the  winds 
To  a  heart  in  port,  — 
Done  with  the  compass, 
Done  with  the  chart. 

Rowing  in  Eden ! 
Ah  !  the  sea  ! 
Might  I  but  mocr 
To-night  in  thee  ! 


POEMS. 


VIII. 
AT  HOME. 

T^HE  night  was  wide,  and  furnished  scant 

With  but  a  single  star, 
That  often  as  a  cloud  it  met 
Blew  out  itself  for  fear. 

The  wind  pursued  the  little  bush, 
And  drove  away  the  leaves 
November  left ;  then  clambered  up 
And  fretted  in  the  eaves. 

No  squirrel  went  abroad ; 

A  dog's  belated  feet 

Like  intermittent  plush  were  heard 

Adown  the  empty  street. 


POEMS.  99 

To  feel  if  blinds  be  fast, 
And  closer  to  the  fire 
Her  little  rocking-chair  to  draw, 
And  shiver  for  the  poor, 

The  housewife's  gentle  task. 

"  How  pleasanter,"  said  she 

Unto  the  sofa  opposite, 

"  The  sleet  than  May  —  no  thee  !  " 


I00  POEMS. 


IX. 

POSSESSION. 

1P\ID  the  harebell  loose  her  girdle 
~     To  the  lover  bee, 
Would  the  bee  the  harebell  hallow 
Much  as  formerly? 

Did  the  paradise,  persuaded, 
Yield  her  moat  of  pearl, 
Would  the  Eden  be  an  Eden, 
Or  the  earl  an  earl  ? 


POEMS.  1 01 


X. 

A    CHARM  invests  a  face 
**•     Imperfectly  beheld,  — 
The  lady  dare  not  lift  her  veil 
For  fear  it  be  dispelled. 

But  peers  beyond  her  mesh, 
And  wishes,  and  denies,  — 
Lest  interview  annul  a  want 
That  image  satisfies. 


102  POEMS. 

XL 

THE    LOVERS. 


rose  did  caper  on  her  cheek, 
Her  bodice  rose  and  fell, 
Her  pretty  speech,  like  drunken  men, 
Did  stagger  pitiful. 

Her  fingers  fumbled  at  her  work,  — 
Her  needle  would  not  go  ; 
What  ailed  so  smart  a  little  maid 
It  puzzled  me  to  know, 

Till  opposite  I  spied  a  cheek 
That  bore  another  rose  ; 
Just  opposite,  another  speech 
That  like  the  drunkard  goes  ; 

A  vest  that,  like  the  bodice,  danced 
To  the  immortal  tune,  — 
Till  those  two  troubled  little  clocks 
Ticked  softly  into  one. 


POEMS.  I03 


XII. 

T  N  lands  I  never  saw,  they  say, 

Immortal  Alps  look  down, 
Whose  bonnets  touch  the  firmament, 
Whose  sandals  touch  the  town,  — 

Meek  at  whose  everlasting  feet 
A  myriad  daisies  play. 
Which,  sir,  are  you,  and  which  am  I, 
Upon  an  August  day? 


104  POEMS 


XIII. 

moon  is  distant  from  the  sea, 
And  yet  with  amber  hands 
She  leads  him,  docile  as  a  boy, 
Along  appointed  sands. 

He  never  misses  a  degree ; 
Obedient  to  her  eye, 
He  comes  just  so  far  toward  the  town, 
Just  so  far  goes  away. 

Oh,  Signor,  thine  the  amber  hand, 
And  mine  the  distant  sea,  — 
Obedient  to  the  least  command 
Thine  eyes  impose  on  me. 


POEMS. 


XIV. 

TT  E  put  the  belt  around  my  life, 

I  heard  the  buckle  snap, 
And  turned  away,  imperial, 
My  lifetime  folding  up 
Deliberate,  as  a  duke  would  do 
A  kingdom's  title-deed,  — 
Henceforth  a  dedicated  sort, 
A  member  of  the  cloud. 

Yet  not  too  far  to  come  at  call, 
And  do  the  little  toils 
That  make  the  circuit  of  the  rest, 
And  deal  occasional  smiles 
To  lives  that  stoop  to  notice  mine 
And  kindly  ask  it  in,  — 
Whose  invitation,  knew  you  not 
For  whom  I  must  decline  ? 


105 


io6  POEMS. 


XV. 
THE  LOST  JEWEL. 

T  HELD  a  jewel  in  my  fingers 

And  went  to  sleep. 

The  day  was  warm,  and  winds  were  prosy ; 
I  said:  "  'T  will  keep." 

I  woke  and  chid  my  honest  fingers,  — 
The  gem  was  gone ; 
And  now  an  amethyst  remembrance 
Is  all  I  own. 


POEMS.  I0; 


XVI. 

Al  7 HAT  if  I  say  I  shall  not  wait? 

What  if  I  burst  the  fleshly  gate 
And  pass,  escaped,  to  thee? 
What  if  I  file  this  mortal  off, 
See  where  it  hurt  me,  —  that 's  enough, 
And  wade  in  liberty  ? 

They  cannot  take  us  any  more,  — 

Dungeons  may  call,  and  guns  implore ; 

Unmeaning  now,  to  me, 

As  laughter  was  an  hour  ago, 

Or  laces,  or  a  travelling  show, 

Or  who  died  yesterday  ! 


III. 

NATURE. 


POEMS.  1 1 1 

L 
MOTHER  NATURE. 

TVT  ATURE,  the  gentlest  mother, 

Impatient  of  no  child, 
The  feeblest  or  the  waywardest,  — 
Her  admonition  mild 

In  forest  and  the  hill 
By  traveller  is  heard, 
Restraining  rampant  squirrel 
Or  too  impetuous  bird. 

How  fair  her  conversation, 
A  summer  afternoon,  — 
Her  household,  her  assembly ; 
And  when  the  sun  goes  down 

Her  voice  among  the  aisles 
Incites  the  timid  prayer 
Of  the  minutest  cricket, 
The  most  unworthy  flower. 


!  1 2  POEMS. 

When  all  the  children  sleep 
She  turns  as  long  away 
As  will  suffice  to  light  her  lamps ; 
Then,  bending  from  the  sky 

With  infinite  affection 
And  infiniter  care, 
Her  golden  finger  on  her  lip, 
Wills  silence  everywhere. 


POEMS. 

II. 
OUT  OF  THE  MORNING. 


there  really  be  a  morning? 
Is  there  such  a  thing  as  day? 
Could  I  see  it  from  the  mountains 
If  I  were  as  tall  as  they  ? 

Has  it  feet  like  water-lilies? 
Has  it  feathers  like  a  bird  ? 
Is  it  brought  from  famous  countries 
Of  which  I  have  never  heard  ? 

Oh,  some  scholar  !   Oh,  some  sailor  ! 
Oh,  some  wise  man  from  the  skies  ! 
Please  to  tell  a  little  pilgrim 
Where  the  place  called  morning  lies  ! 


8 


U4  POEMS. 


III. 

A  T  half- past  three  a  single  bird 
^"*"     Unto  a  silent  sky 
Propounded  but  a  single  term 
Of  cautious  melody. 

At  half-past  four,  experiment 
Had  subjugated  test, 
And  lo  !  her  silver  principle 
Supplanted  all  the  rest. 

At  half-past  seven,  element 

Nor  implement  was  seen, 

And  place  was  where  the  presence  was, 

Circumference  between. 


POEMS. 

IV. 
DAY'S  PARLOR. 

HPHE  day  came  slow,  till  five  o'clock, 
•^      Then  sprang  before  the  hills 
Like  hindered  rubies,  or  the  light 
A  sudden  musket  spills. 

The  purple  could  not  keep  the  east, 
The  sunrise  shook  from  fold, 
Like  breadths  of  topaz,  packed  a  night, 
The  lady  just  unrolled. 

The  happy  winds  their  timbrels  took ; 
The  birds,  in  docile  rows, 
Arranged  themselves  around  their  prince 
(The  wind  is  prince  of  those). 

The  orchard  sparkled  like  a  Jew,  — 
How  mighty  'twas,  to  stay 
A  guest  in  this  stupendous  place, 
The  parlor  of  the  day  ! 


n6  POEMS. 


V. 
THE  SUN'S  WOOING. 

HPHE  sun  just  touched  the  morning  ; 

The  morning,  happy  thing, 
Supposed  that  he  had  come  to  dwell, 
And  life  would  be  all  spring. 

She  felt  herself  supremer,  — 

raised,  ethereal  thing ; 
Henceforth  for  her  what  holiday  ! 
Meanwhile,  her  wheeling  king 

Trailed  slow  along  the  orchards 
His  haughty,  spangled  hems, 
Leaving  a  new  necessity,  — 
The  want  of  diadems  ! 

The  morning  fluttered,  staggered, 
Felt  feebly  for  her  crown,  — 
Her  unanointed  forehead 
Henceforth  her  only  one. 


POEMS. 

VI. 
THE  ROBIN. 

HTHE  robin  is  the  one 
•*•  That  interrupts  the  morn 
With  hurried,  few,  express  reports 
When  March  is  scarcely  on. 

The  robin  is  the  one 
That  overflows  the  noon 
With  her  cherubic  quantity, 
An  April  but  begun. 

The  robin  is  the  one 
That  speechless  from  her  nest 
Submits  that  home  and  certainty 
And  sanctity  are  best. 


POEMS 

VII. 
THE  BUTTERFLY'S  DAY. 

T7ROM  cocoon  forth  a  butterfly 

As  lady  from  her  door 
Emerged  —  a  summer  afternoon  — 
Repairing  everywhere, 

Without  design,  that  I  could  trace, 
Except  to  stray  abroad 
On  miscellaneous  enterprise 
The  clovers  understood. 

Her  pretty  parasol  was  seen 
Contracting  in  a  field 

Where  men  made  hay,  then  struggling  hard 
With  an  opposing  cloud, 

Where  parties,  phantom  as  herself, 
To  Nowhere  seemed  to  go 
In  purposeless  circumference, 
As  't  were  a  tropic  show. 


POEMS.  II9 

And  notwithstanding  bee  that  worked, 
And  flower  that  zealous  blew, 
This  audience  of  idleness 
Disdained  them,  from  the  sky, 

Till  sundown  crept,  a  steady  tide, 
And  men  that  made  the  hay, 
And  afternoon,  and  butterfly, 
Extinguished  in  its  sea. 


120  POEMS. 

VIII. 
THE  BLUEBIRD. 

"DEFORE  you  thought  of  spring, 

Except  as  a  surmise, 
You  see,  God  bless  his  suddenness, 
A  fellow  in  the  skies 
Of  independent  hues, 
A  little  weather-worn, 
Inspiriting  habiliments 
Of  indigo  and  brown. 

With  specimens  of  song, 
As  if  for  you  to  choose, 
Discretion  in  the  interval, 
With  gay  delays  he  goes 
To  some  superior  tree 
Without  a  single  leaf, 
And  shouts  for  joy  to  nobody 
But  his  seraphic  self ! 


POEMS.  1 2 1 

IX. 

APRIL. 

A  N  altered  look  about  the  hills ; 
*\     A  Tyrian  light  the  village  fills ; 
A  wider  sunrise  in  the  dawn ; 
A  deeper  twilight  on  the  lawn ; 
A  print  of  a  vermilion  foot ; 
A  purple  finger  on  the  slope ; 
A  flippant  fly  upon  the  pane ; 
A  spider  at  his  trade  again ; 
An  added  strut  in  chanticleer ; 
A  flower  expected  everywhere ; 
An  axe  shrill  singing  in  the  woods ; 
Fern-odors  on  untravelled  roads,  — 
All  this,  and  more  I  cannot  tell, 
A  furtive  look  you  know  as  well, 
And  Nicodemus'  mystery 
Receives  its  annual  reply. 


122  POEMS. 


THE  SLEEPING  FLOWERS. 

«  V\mOSE  are  the  little  beds,"  I  asked, 

V  V       "  Which  in  the  valleys  lie  ?  " 
Some  shook  their  heads,  and  others  smiled, 
And  no  one  made  reply. 

"  Perhaps  they  did  not  hear,"  I  said  ; 
"  I  will  inquire  again. 
Whose  are  the  beds,  the  tiny  beds 
So  thick  upon  the  plain?  " 

"  'T  is  daisy  in  the  shortest ; 
A  little  farther  on, 
Nearest  the  door  to  wake  the  first, 
Little  leontodon. 

"  T  is  iris,  sir,  and  aster, 
Anemone  and  bell, 
Batschia  in  the  blanket  red, 
And  chubby  daffodil." 


POEMS.  123 


Meanwhile  at  many  cradles 
Her  busy  foot  she  plied, 
Humming  the  quaintest  lullaby 
That  ever  rocked  a  child. 

"  Hush  !  Epigea  wakens  ! 
The  crocus  stirs  her  lids, 
Rhodora's  cheek  is  crimson,  — 
She  's  dreaming  of  the  .woods." 

Then,  turning  from  them,  reverent, 
"Their  bed-time  'tis,"  she  said; 
"  The  bumble-bees  will  wake  them 
When  April  woods  are  red." 


124  POEMS. 

XL 

MY  ROSE. 

T3IGMY  seraphs  gone  astray, 

Velvet  people  from  Vevay, 
Belles  from  some  lost  summer  day? 
Bees'  exclusive  coterie. 
Paris  could  not  lay  the  fold 
Belted  down  with  emerald ; 
Venice  could  not  show  a  cheek 
Of  a  tint  so  lustrous  meek. 
Never  such  an  ambuscade 
As  of  brier  and  leaf  displayed 
For  my  little  damask  maid. 
1  had  rather  wear  her  grace 
Than  an  earl's  distinguished  face; 
I  had  rather  dwell  like  her 
Than  be  Duke  of  Exeter 
Royalty  enough  for  me 
To  subdue  the  bumble-bee  ! 


POEMS. 

XII. 
THE  ORIOLE'S  SECRET. 

n^O  hear  an  oriole  sing 

May  be  a  common  thing, 
Or  only  a  divine. 

It  is  not  of  the  bird 

Who  sings  the  same,  unheard, 

As  unto  crowd. 

The  fashion  of  the  ear 
Attireth  that  it  hear 
In  dun  or  fair. 

So  whether  it  be  rune, 
Or  whether  it  be  none, 
Is  of  within ; 

The  "  tune  is  in  the  tree," 
The  sceptic  showeth  me ; 
"  No,  sir  !  In  thee  !  " 


I25 


126  POEMS. 

XIII. 
THE  ORIOLE. 

/^VNE  of  the  ones  that  Midas  touched, 

"     Who  failed  to  touch  us  all, 
Was  that  confiding  prodigal, 
The  blissful  oriole. 

So  drunk,  he  disavows  it 
With  badinage  divine  5 
So  dazzling,  we  mistake  him 
For  an  alighting  mine. 

A  pleader,  a  dissembler, 
An  epicure,  a  thief,  — 
Betimes  an  oratorio, 
An  ecstasy  in  chief; 

The  Jesuit  of  orchards, 
He  cheats  as  he  enchants 
Of  an  entire  attar 
For  his  decamping  wants. 


POEMS. 

The  splendor  of  a  Burmah, 
The  meteor  of  birds, 
Departing  like  a  pageant 
Of  ballads  and  of  bards. 

I  never  thought  that  Jason  sought 
For  any  golden  fleece  ; 
But  then  I  am  a  rural  man, 
With  thoughts  that  make  for  peace. 

But  if  there  were  a  Jason, 
Tradition  suffer  me 
Behold  his  lost  emolument 
Upon  the  apple-tree. 


127 


1 28  POEMS. 

XIV. 
IN  SHADOW. 

T    DREADED  that  first  robin  so, 

But  he  is  mastered  now, 
And  I  'm  accustomed  to  him  grown, 
He  hurts  a  little,  though. 

I  thought  if  I  could  only  live 
Till  that  first  shout  got  by, 
Not  all  pianos  in  the  woods 
Had  power  to  mangle  me. 

I  dared  not  meet  the  daffodils, 
For  fear  their  yellow  gown 
Would  pierce  me  with  a  fashion 
So  foreign  to  my  own. 

I  wished  the  grass  would  hurry, 
So  when  't  was  time  to  see, 
He  'd  be  too  tall,  the  tallest  one 
Could  stretch  to  look  at  me. 


POEMS.  J29 

I  could  not  bear  the  bees  should  come, 
I  wished  they  'd  stay  away 
In  those  dim  countries  where  they  go  : 
What  word  had  they  for  me  ? 

They  're  here,  though ;  not  a  creature  failed, 
No  blossom  stayed  away 
In  gentle  deference  to  me, 
The  Queen  of  Calvary. 

Each  one  salutes  me  as  he  goes, 
And  I  my  childish  plumes 
Lift,  in  bereaved  acknowledgment 
Of  their  unthinking  drums. 


POEMS. 


XV. 

THE  HUMMING-BIRD. 

A     ROUTE  of  evanescence 
•**•     With  a  revolving  wheel ; 
A  resonance  of  emerald, 
A  rush  of  cochineal ; 
And  every  blossom  on  the  bush 
Adjusts  its  tumbled  head,  — 
The  mail  from  Tunis,  probably, 
An  easy  morning's  ride. 


POEMS.  131 

XVI. 
SECRETS. 

skies  can't  keep  their  secret ! 
They  tell  it  to  the  hills  — 
The  hills  just  tell  the  orchards  — 
And  they  the  daffodils  ! 

A  bird,  by  chance,  that  goes  that  way 
Soft  overheard  the  whole. 
If  I  should  bribe  the  little  bird, 
Who  knows  but  she  would  tell? 

I  think  I  won't,  however, 
It 's  finer  not  to  know  ; 
If  summer  were  an  axiom, 
What  sorcery  had  snow? 

So  keep  your  secret,  Father  ! 

I  would  not,  if  I  could, 

Know  what  the  sapphire  fellows  do, 

In  your  new-fashioned  world  ! 


132  POEMS. 


XVII. 

VXTHO  robbed  the  woods, 
The  trusting  woods? 
The  unsuspecting  trees 
Brought  out  their  burrs  and  mosses 
His  fantasy  to  please. 
He  scanned  their  trinkets,  curious, 
He  grasped,  he  bore  away. 
What  will  the  solemn  hemlock, 
What  will  the  fir-tree  say? 


POEMS.  ; 

XVIII. 
TWO  VOYAGERS. 

HTWO  butterflies  went  out  at  noon 

And  waltzed  above  a  stream, 
Then  stepped  straight  through  the  firmament 
And  rested  on  a  beam ; 

And  then  together  bore  away 
Upon  a  shining  sea,  — 
Though  never  yet,  in  any  port. 
Their  coming  mentioned  be. 

If  spoken  by  the  distant  bird, 
If  met  in  ether  sea 
By  frigate  or  by  merchantman, 
Report  was  not  to  me. 


134  POEMS. 


XIX. 
BY  THE  SEA. 

T  STARTED  early,  took  my  dog, 

And  visited  the  sea ; 
The  mermaids  in  the  basement 
Came  out  to  look  at  me, 

And  frigates  in  the  upper  floor 
Extended  hempen  hands, 
Presuming  me  to  be  a  mouse 
Aground,  upon  the  sands. 

But  no  man  moved  me  till  the  tide 
Went  past  my  simple  shoe, 
And  past  my  apron  and  my  belt, 
And  past  my  bodice  too, 

And  made  as  he  would  eat  me  up 
As  wholly  as  a  dew 
Upon  a  dandelion's  sleeve  — 
And  then  I  started  too. 


POEMS.  135 

he  —  he  followed  close  behind ; 
I  felt  his  silver  heel 
Upon  my  ankle,  —  then  my  shoes 
Would  overflow  with  pearl. 

Until  we  met  the  solid  town, 
No  man  he  seemed  to  know ; 
And  bowing  with  a  mighty  look 
At  me,  the  sea  withdrew. 


136  POEMS. 

XX. 

OLD-FASHIONED. 

A  RCTURUS  is  his  other  name,  - 
•**•     I  'd  rather  call  him  star  ! 
It 's  so  unkind  of  science 
To  go  and  interfere  ! 

I  pull  a  flower  from  the  woods,  — 
A  monster  with  a  glass 
Computes  the  stamens  in  a  breath, 
And  has  her  in  a  class. 

Whereas  I  took  the  butterfly 
Aforetime  in  my  hat, 
He  sits  erect  in  cabinets, 
The  clover-bells  forgot. 

What  once  was  heaven,  is  zenith  now. 
Where  I  proposed  to  go 
When  time's  brief  masquerade  was  done, 
Is  mapped,  and  charted  too  ! 


POEMS.  I3 

What  if  the  poles  should  frisk  about 
And  stand  upon  their  heads  ! 
I  hope  I  'm  ready  for  the  worst, 
Whatever  prank  betides  ! 

Perhaps  the  kingdom  of  Heaven 's  changed  ! 
I  hope  the  children  there 
Won't  be  new-fashioned  when  I  come, 
And  laugh  at  me,  and  stare  ! 

I  hope  the  father  in  the  skies 
Will  lift  his  little  girl,  — 
Old-fashioned,  naughty,  everything,  — 
Over  the  stile  of  pearl ! 


POEMS. 

XXI. 
A  TEMPEST. 

AN  awful  tempest  mashed  the  air, 
The  clouds  were  gaunt  and  few ; 
A  black,  as  of  a  spectre's  cloak, 
Hid  heaven  and  earth  from  view. 

The  creatures  chuckled  on  the  roofs 

And  whistled  in  the  air, 

And  shook  their  fists  and  gnashed  their  teeth , 

And  swung  their  frenzied  hair. 

The  morning  lit,  the  birds  arose ; 
The  monster's  faded  eyes 
Turned  slowly  to  his  native  coast, 
And  peace  was  Paradise  ! 


POEMS. 


139 


XXII. 
THE   SEA. 


A  N  everywhere  of  silver, 
^^     With  ropes  of  sand 
To  keep  it  from  effacing 
The  track  called  land. 


140  POEMS. 


XXIII. 
IN   THE   GARDEN. 

A    BIRD  came  down  the  walk : 

He  did  not  know  I  saw ; 
He  bit  an  angle-worm  in  halves 
And  ate  the  fellow,  raw. 

And  then  he  drank  a  dew 

From  a  convenient  grass, 

And  then  hopped  sidewise  to  the  wall 

To  let  a  beetle  pass. 

He  glanced  with  rapid  eyes 

That  hurried  all  abroad, — 

They  looked  like  frightened  beads,  I  thought 

He  stirred  his  velvet  head 


POEMS. 

Like  one  in  danger ;  cautious, 
I  offered  him  a  crumb, 
And  he  unrolled  his  feathers 
And  rowed  him  softer  home 

Than  oars  divide  the  ocean, 
Too  silver  for  a  seam, 
Or  butterflies,  off  banks  of  noon, 
Leap,  plashless,  as  they  swim. 


141 


1 42  POEMS. 

XXIV. 
THE  SNAKE. 

A     NARROW  fellow  in  the  grass 
**•     Occasionally  rides ; 
You  may  have  met  him,  —  did  you  not, 
His  notice  sudden  is. 

The  grass  divides  as  with  a  comb, 
A  spotted  shaft  is  seen ; 
And  then  it  closes  at  your  feet 
And  opens  further  on. 

He  likes  a  boggy  acre, 
A  floor  too  cool  for  corn. 
Yet  when  a  child,  and  barefoot, 
I  more  than  once,  at  morn, 

Have  passed,  I  thought,  a  whip-lash 
Unbraiding  in  the  sun,  — 
When,  stooping  to  secure  it, 
It  wrinkled,  and  was  gone. 


POEMS. 

Several  of  nature's  people 
I  know,  and  they  know  me ; 
I  feel  for  them  a  transport 
Of  cordiality; 

But  never  met  this  fellow, 
Attended  or  alone, 
Without  a  tighter  breathing, 
And  zero  at  the  bone. 


I44  POEMS. 


XXV. 
THE  MUSHROOM. 

'"PHE  mushroom  is  the  elf  of  plants, 

At  evening  it  is  not ; 
At  morning  in  a  truffled  hut 
It  stops  upon  a  spot 

As  if  it  tarried  always ; 
And  yet  its  whole  career 
Is  shorter  than  a  snake's  delay, 
And  fleeter  than  a  tare. 

'T  is  vegetation's  juggler, 
The  germ  of  alibi ; 
Doth  like  a  bubble  antedate, 
And  like  a  bubble  hie. 


POEMS. 

I  feel  as  if  the  grass  were  pleased 
To  have  it  intermit ; 
The  surreptitious  scion 
Of  summer 's  circumspect. 

Had  nature  any  outcast  face, 
Could  she  a  son  contemn, 
Had  nature  an  Iscariot, 
That  mushroom,  —  it  is  him. 


'45 


146  POEMS. 

XXVI. 
THE  STORM. 

HPHERE  came  a  wind  like  a  bugle  ; 

It  quivered  through  the  grass, 
And  a  green  chill  upon  the  heat 
So  ominous  did  pass 
We  barred  the  windows  and  the  doors 
As  from  an  emerald  ghost ; 
The  doom's  electric  moccason 
That  very  instant  passed. 
On  a  strange  mob  of  panting  trees, 
And  fences  fled  away, 
And  rivers  where  the  houses  ran 
The  living  looked  that  day. 
The  bell  within  the  steeple  wild 
The  flying  tidings  whirled. 
How  much  can  come 
And  much  can  go, 
And  yet  abide  the  world  ! 


POEMS.  I47 


XXVII. 
THE  SPIDER. 

A    SPIDER  sewed  at  night 
4*     Without  a  light 
Upon  an  arc  of  white. 
If  ruff  it  was  of  dame 
Or  shroud  of  gnome, 
Himself,  himself  inform. 
Of  immortality 
His  strategy 
Was  physiognomy. 


148  POEMS. 


XXVIII. 

T  KNOW  a  place  where  summer  strives 
•^     With  such  a  practised  frost, 
She  each  year  leads  her  daisies  back, 
Recording  briefly,  "Lost." 

But  when  the  south  wind  stirs  the  pools 
And  struggles  in  the  lanes, 
Her  heart  misgives  her  for  her  vow, 
And  she  pours  soft  refrains 

Into  the  lap  of  adamant, 
And  spices,  and  the  dew, 
That  stiffens  quietly  to  quartz, 
Upon  her  amber  shoe. 


POEMS.  ,49 


XXIX. 

HPHE  one  that  could  repeat  the  summer  day 

Were  greater  tnan  itself,  though  he 
Minutest  of  mankind  might  be. 
And  who  could  reproduce  the  sun, 
At  period  of  going  down  — 
The  lingering  and  the  stain,  I  mean  — 
When  Orient  has  been  outgrown, 
And  Occident  becomes  unknown, 
His  name  remain. 


POEMS. 


XXX. 
THE  WIND'S  VISIT. 

T^HE  wind  tapped  like  a  tired  man, 
-*•       And  like  a  host,  "  Come  in," 
I  boldly  answered  ;  entered  then 
My  residence  within 

A  rapid,  footless  guest, 
To  offer  whom  a  chair 
Were  as  impossible  as  hand 
A  sofa  to  the  air. 

No  bone  had  he  to  bind  him, 
His  speech  was  like  the  push 
Of  numerous  humming-birds  at  once 
From  a  superior  bush. 


POEMS. 

His  countenance  a  billow, 
His  fingers,  if  he  pass, 
Let  go  a  music,  as  of  tunes 
Blown  tremulous  in  glass. 

He  visited,  still  flitting ; 

Then,  like  a  timid  man, 

Again  he  tapped  —  't  was  flurriedly 

And  I  became  alone. 


152  POEMS. 


XXXI. 

ATURE  rarer  uses  yellow 

Than  another  hue  ; 
Saves  she  all  of  that  for  sunsets, 
Prodigal  of  blue, 

Spending  scarlet  like  a  woman, 

Yellow  she  affords 
Only  scantly  and  selectly, 

Like  a  lover's  words. 


POEMS.  153 

XXXII. 
GOSSIP. 

TTHE  leaves,  like  women,  interchange 

Sagacious  confidence ; 
Somewhat  of  nods,  and  somewhat  of 
Portentous  inference, 

The  parties  in  both  cases 

Enjoining  secrecy, — 
Inviolable  compact 

To  notoriety. 


I54  POEMS. 


XXXIII. 
SIMPLICITY. 

TTOW  happy  is  the  little  stone 
*•**     That  rambles  in  the  road  alone, 
And  does  n't  care  about  careers, 
And  exigencies  never  fears  ; 
Whose  coat  of  elemental  brown 
A  passing  universe  put  on ; 
And  independent  as  the  sun, 
Associates  or  glows  alone, 
Fulfilling  absolute  decree 
In  casual  simplicity. 


POEMS. 


'55 


XXXIV. 
STORM. 

TT  sounded  as  if  the  streets  were  running, 

And  then  the  streets  stood  still. 
Eclipse  was  all  we  could  see  at  the  window, 
And  awe  was  all  we  could  feel. 

By  and  by  the  boldest  stole  out  of  his  covert, 
To  see  if  time  was  there. 
Nature  was  in  her  beryl  apron, 
Mixing  fresher  air. 


156  POEMS. 

XXXV. 
THE  RAT. 


HPHE  rat  is  the  concisest  tenant. 

He  pays  no  rent,  — 
Repudiates  the  obligation, 
On  schemes  intent. 

Balking  our  wit 
To  sound  or  circumvent, 
Hate  cannot  harm 
A  foe  so  reticent. 

Neither  decree 
Prohibits  him, 
Lawful  as 
Equilibrium. 


POEMS.  157 


XXXVI. 

T^REQUENTLY  the  woods  are  pink, 

Frequently  are  brown ; 
Frequently  the  hills  undress 
Behind  my  native  town. 

Oft  a  head  is  crested 
I  was  wont  to  see, 
And  as  oft  a  cranny 
Where  it  used  to  be. 

And  the  earth,  they  tell  me, 
On  its  axis  turned,  — 
Wonderful  rotation 
By  but  twelve  performed  ! 


158  POEMS. 


XXXVII. 
A  THUNDER-STORM. 

*  I  "HE  wind  begun  to  rock  the  grass 

With  threatening  tunes  and  low,  — 
He  flung  a  menace  at  the  earth, 
A  menace  at  the  sky. 

The  leaves  unhooked  themselves  from  trees 
And  started  all  abroad  ; 
The  dust  did  scoop  itself  like  hands 
And  throw  away  the  road. 

The  wagons  quickened  on  the  streets, 
The  thunder  hurried  slow ; 
The  lightning  showed  a  yellow  beak, 
And  then  a  livid  claw. 


POEMS.  I59 

The  birds  put  up  the  bars  to  nests, 
The  cattle  fled  to  barns ; 
There  came  one  drop  of  giant  rain, 
And  then,  as  if  the  hands 

That  held  the  dams  had  parted  hold, 
The  waters  wrecked  the  sky. 
But  overlooked  my  father's  house, 
Just  quartering  a  tree. 


POEMS. 


XXXVIII. 
WITH  FLOWERS. 

OOUTH  winds  jostle  them, 
^     Bumblebees  come, 
Hover,  hesitate, 
Drink,  and  are  gone. 

Butterflies  pause 
On  their  passage  Cashmere ; 
I,  softly  plucking, 
Present  them  here  ! 


POEMS. 


XXXIX. 

SUNSET. 

T 17  HERE  ships  of  purple  gently  toss 
^*       On  seas  of  daffodil, 
Fantastic  sailors  mingle, 
And  then  —  the  wharf  is  still. 


ii 


1 62  POEMS. 


XL. 

^HE  sweeps  with  many-colored  brooms, 

And  leaves  the  shreds  behind ; 
Oh,  housewife  in  the  evening  west, 
Come  back,  and  dust  the  pond  ! 

You  dropped  a  purple  ravelling  in, 
You  dropped  an  amber  thread ; 
And  now  you  Ve  littered  all  the  East 
With  duds  of  emerald  ! 

And  still  she  plies  her  spotted  brooms, 
And  still  the  aprons  fly, 
Till  brooms  fade  softly  into  stars  — 
And  then  I  come  away. 


POEMS.  163 


XLI. 

T    IKE  mighty  footlights  burned  the  red 
*--l     At  bases  of  the  trees,  — 
The  far  theatricals  of  day 
Exhibiting  to  these. 

'Twas  universe  that  did  applaud 
While,  chiefest  of  the  crowd, 
Enabled  by  his  royal  dress, 
Myself  distinguished  God. 


1 64  POEMS. 


XLII. 
PROBLEMS. 

"D  RING  me  the  sunset  in  a  cup, 

Reckon  the  morning's  flagons  up, 

And  say  how  many  dew ; 
Tell  me  how  far  the  morning  leaps, 
Tell  me  what  time  the  weaver  sleeps 

Who  spun  the  breadths  of  blue  ! 


Write  me  how  many  notes  there  be 
In  the  new  robin's  ecstasy 

Among  astonished  boughs ; 
How  many  trips  the  tortoise  makes, 
How  many  cups  the  bee  partakes,  — 

The  debauchee  of  dews  ! 


POEMS. 

Also,  who  laid  the  rainbow's  piers, 
Also,  who  leads  the  docile  spheres 

By  withes  of  supple  blue  ? 
Whose  fingers  string  the  stalactite, 
Who  counts  the  wampum  of  the  night, 

To  see  that  none  is  due  ? 

Who  built  this  little  Alban  house 
And  shut  the  windows  down  so  close 

My  spirit  cannot  see? 
Who  '11  let  me  out  some  gala  day, 
With  implements  to  fly  away, 

Passing  pomposity? 


165 


1 66  POEMS. 


XLIII. 
THE  JUGGLER  OF  DAY. 

"D  LAZING  in  gold  and  quenching  in  purple, 

Leaping  like  leopards  to  the  sky, 
Then  at  the  feet  of  the  old  horizon 
Laying  her  spotted  face,  to  die  ; 

Stooping  as  low  as  the  otter's  window, 
Touching  the  roof  and  tinting  the  barn, 
Kissing  her  bonnet  to  the  meadow,  — 
And  the  juggler  of  day  is  gone  ! 


POEMS.  167 

XLIV. 
MY   CRICKET. 

T7ARTHER  in  summer  than  the  birds, 

Pathetic  from  the  grass, 
A  minor  nation  celebrates 
Its  unobtrusive  mass. 

No  ordinance  is  seen, 

So  gradual  the  grace, 

A  pensive  custom  it  becomes, 

Enlarging  loneliness. 

Antiquest  felt  at  noon 
When  August,  burning  low, 
Calls  forth  this  spectral  canticle, 
Repose  to  typify. 

Remit  as  yet  no  grace, 
No  furrow  on  the  glow, 
Yet  a  druidic  difference 
Enhances  nature  now. 


1 68  POEMS. 


XLV. 

S  imperceptibly  as  grief 

The  summer  lapsed  away,  — 
Too  imperceptible,  at  last, 
To  seem  like  perfidy. 

A  quietness  distilled, 

As  twilight  long  begun, 

Or  Nature,  spending  with  herself 

Sequestered  afternoon. 

The  dusk  drew  earlier  in, 
The  morning  foreign  shone,  — 
A  courteous,  yet  harrowing  grace, 
As  guest  who  would  be  gone. 

And  thus,  without  a  wing, 

Or  service  of  a  keel, 

Our  summer  made  her  light  escape 

Into  the  beautiful. 


POEMS.  169 


XLVI. 

T  T  can't  be  summer,  —  that  got  through  ; 
•^      It 's  early  yet  for  spring ; 
There  's  that  long  town  of  white  to  cross 
Before  the  blackbirds  sing. 

It  can't  be  dying,  —  it 's  too  rouge,  — 
The  dead  shall  go  in  white. 
So  sunset  shuts  my  question  down 
With  clasps  of  chrysolite. 


170 


POEMS. 


XLVII. 
SUMMER'S  OBSEQUIES. 

'"PHE  gentian  weaves  her  fringes, 

The  maple's  loom  is  red. 
My  departing  blossoms 
Obviate  parade. 

A  brief,  but  patient  illness, 
An  hour  to  prepare  ; 
And  one,  below  this  morning, 
Is  where  the  angels  are. 

It  was  a  short  procession,  — 
The  bobolink  was  there, 
An  aged  bee  addressed  us, 
And  then  we  knelt  in  prayer. 


POEMS. 

We  trust  that  she  was  willing,  — 
We  ask  that  we  may  be. 
Summer,  sister,  seraph, 
Let  us  go  with  thee  ! 

In  the  name  of  the  bee 
And  of  the  butterfly 
And  of  the  breeze,  amen  ! 


171 


172  POEMS. 

XLVIII. 

FRINGED  GENTIAN. 

/""*  OD  made  a  little  gentian ; 

^~*     It  tried  to  be  a  rose 

And  failed,  and  all  the  summer  laughed. 

But  just  before  the  snows 

There  came  a  purple  creature 

That  ravished  all  the  hill ; 

And  summer  hid  her  forehead, 

And  mockery  was  still. 

The  frosts  were  her  condition ; 

The  Tyrian  would  not  come 

Until  the  North  evoked  it. 

"Creator!  shall  I  bloom?" 


POEMS. 

XLIX. 
NOVEMBER. 

"DESIDES  the  autumn  poets  sing, 

A  few  prosaic  days 
A  little  this  side  of  the  snow 
And  that  side  of  the  haze. 

A  few  incisive  mornings, 
A  few  ascetic  eves,  — 
Gone  Mr.  Bryant's  golden-rod, 
And  Mr.  Thomson's  sheaves. 

Still  is  the  bustle  in  the  brook, 
Sealed  are  the  spicy  valves ; 
Mesmeric  fingers  softly  touch 
The  eyes  of  many  elves. 

Perhaps  a  squirrel  may  remain, 
My  sentiments  to  share. 
Grant  me,  O  Lord,  a  sunny  mind, 
Thy  windy  will  to  bear  ! 


174  POEMS. 


THE  SNOW. 

TT  sifts  from  leaden  sieves, 
It  powders  all  the  wood, 
It  fills  with  alabaster  wool 
The  wrinkles  of  the  road. 

It  makes  an  even  face 
Of  mountain  and  of  plain,  — 
Unbroken  forehead  from  the  east 
Unto  the  east  again. 

It  reaches  to  the  fence, 
It  wraps  it,  rail  by  rail, 
Till  it  is  lost  in  fleeces ; 
It  flings  a  crystal  veil 


POEMS. 

On  stump  and  stack  and  stem,  — 
The  summer's  empty  room, 
Acres  of  seams  where  harvests  were, 
Recordless,  but  for  them. 

It  ruffles  wrists  of  posts, 
As  ankles  of  a  queen,  — 
Then  stills  its  artisans  like  ghosts, 
Denying  they  have  been. 


'75 


POEMS, 

LI 
THE  BLUE  JAY. 

'1VT  O  brigadier  throughout  the  year 

So  civic  as  the  jay. 
A  neighbor  and  a  warrior  too, 
With  shrill  felicity 

Pursuing  winds  that  censure  us 
A  February  day, 
The  brother  of  the  universe 
Was  never  blown  away. 

The  snow  and  he  are  intimate ; 
I  've  often  seen  them  play 
When  heaven  looked  upon  us  all 
With  such  severity, 

I  felt  apology  were  due 

To  an  insulted  sky, 

Whose  pompous  frown  was  nutriment 

To  their  temerity. 


POEMS. 

The  pillow  of  this  daring  head 
Is  pungent  evergreens ; 
His  larder  —  terse  and  militant  — 
Unknown,  refreshing  things ; 

His  character  a  tonic, 
His  future  a  dispute  ; 
Unfair  an  immortality 
That  leaves  this  neighbor  out. 


177 


12 


IV. 
TIME  AND  ETERNITY, 


POEMS.  181 


I. 


T    ET  down  the  bars,  O  Death  ! 
•*— '    The  tired  flocks  come  in 
Whose  bleating  ceases  to  repeat, 
Whose  wandering  is  done. 

Thine  is  the  stillest  night, 
Thine  the  securest  fold ; 
Too  near  thou  art  for  seeking  thee, 
Too  tender  to  be  told. 


1 82  POEMS. 


II. 


C*  OING  to  heaven  ! 

I  don't  know  when, 
Pray  do  not  ask  me  how,  — 
Indeed,  I  'm  too  astonished 
To  think  of  answering  you  ! 
Going  to  heaven  !  — 
How  dim  it  sounds  ! 
And  yet  it  will  be  done 
As  sure  as  flocks  go  home  at  night 
Unto  the  shepherd's  arm  ! 

Perhaps  you  're  going  too  ! 
Who  knows? 

If  you  should  get  there  first, 
Save  just  a  little  place  for  me 
Close  to  the  two  I  lost ! 


POEMS.  183 

The  smallest  "  robe  "  will  fit  me, 

And  just  a  bit  of  "  crown ;  " 

For  you  know  we  do  not  mind  our  dress 

When  we  are  going  home. 

I  'm  glad  I  don't  believe  it, 

For  it  would  stop  my  breath, 

And  I  'd  like  to  look  a  little  more 

At  such  a  curious  earth  ! 

I  am  glad  they  did  believe  it 

Whom  I  have  never  found 

Since  the  mighty  autumn  afternoon 

I  left  them  in  the  ground. 


POEMS. 


III. 

A  T  least  to  pray  is  left,  is  left. 
*^*     O  Jesus  !  in  the  air 
I  know  not  which  thy  chamber  is,  — 
I  'm  knocking  everywhere. 

Thou  stirrest  earthquake  in  the  South, 
And  maelstrom  in  the  sea ; 
Say,  Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth, 
Hast  thou  no  arm  for  me  ? 


POEMS.  185 

IV. 
EPITAPH. 


OTEP  lightly  on  this  narrow  spot ! 
^     The  broadest  land  that  grows 
Is  not  so  ample  as  the  breast 
These  emerald  seams  enclose. 


Step  lofty ;  for  this  name  is  told 
As  far  as  cannon  dwell, 
Or  flag  subsist,  or  fame  export 
Her  deathless  syllable. 


1 86  POEMS. 


V. 


TV/TORNS  like  these  we  parted ; 
•^     Noons  like  these  she  rose, 
Fluttering  first,  then  firmer, 
To  her  fair  repose. 

Never  did  she  lisp  it, 
And  't  was  not  for  me ; 
She  was  mute  from  transport, 
I,  from  agony  ! 

Till  the  evening,  nearing, 
One  the  shutters  drew  — 
Quick  !  a  sharper  rustling  ! 
And  this  linnet  flew  ! 


POEMS. 


187 


VI. 


A    DEATH-BLOW  is  a  life-blow  to  some 
^*     Who,  till  they  died,  did  not  alive  become ; 
Who,  had  they  lived,  had  died,  but  when 
They  died,  vitality  begun. 


1 88  POEMS. 


VII. 

T  READ  my  sentence  steadily, 
Reviewed  it  with  my  eyes, 
To  see  that  I  made  no  mistake 
In  its  extremest  clause,  — 

The  date,  and  manner  of  the  shame  ; 
And  then  the  pious  form 
That  "  God  have  mercy  "  on  the  soul 
The  jury  voted  him. 

I  made  my  soul  familiar 
With  her  extremity, 
That  at  the  last  it  should  not  be 
A  novel  agony, 

But  she  and  Death,  acquainted, 
Meet  tranquilly  as  friends, 
Salute  and  pass  without  a  hint  — 
And  there  the  matter  ends. 


POEMS.  189 


VIII. 

T   HAVE  not  told  my  garden  yet, 
Lest  that  should  conquer  me ; 
I  have  not  quite  the  strength  now 
To  break  it  to  the  bee. 

I  will  not  name  it  in  the  street, 
For  shops  would  stare,  that  I, 
So  shy,  so  very  ignorant, 
Should  have  the  face  to  die. 

The  hillsides  must  not  know  it, 
Where  I  have  rambled  so, 
Nor  tell  the  loving  forests 
The  day  that  I  shall  go, 

Nor  lisp  it  at  the  table, 
Nor  heedless  by  the  way 
Hint  that  within  the  riddle 
One  will  walk  to-day  ! 


I90  POEMS. 


IX. 

THE  BATTLE-FIELD. 

H^HEY  dropped  like  flakes,  they  dropped  like  stars, 

Like  petals  from  a  rose, 
When  suddenly  across  the  June 
A  wind  with  fingers  goes. 

They  perished  in  the  seamless  grass,  — 

No  eye  could  find  the  place ; 
But  God  on  his  repealless  list 

Can  summon  every  face. 


POEMS. 


X. 


TTHE  only  ghost  I  ever  saw 

Was  dressed  in  mechlin,  —  so  ; 
He  wore  no  sandal  on  his  foot, 
And  stepped  like  flakes  of  snow. 
His  gait  was  soundless,  like  the  bird, 
But  rapid,  like  the  roe ; 
His  fashions  quaint,  mosaic, 
Or,  haply,  mistletoe. 

His  conversation  seldom, 
His  laughter  like  the  breeze 
That  dies  away  in  dimples 
Among  the  pensive  trees. 
Our  interview  was  transient,  — 
Of  me,  himself  was  shy ; 
And  God  forbid  I  look  behind 
Since  that  appalling  day  ! 


192  POEMS. 


XL 

OOME,  too  fragile  for  winter  winds, 
**-*    The  thoughtful  grave  encloses,  — 
Tenderly  tucking  them  in  from  frost 
Before  their  feet  are  cold. 

Never  the  treasures  in  her  nest 
The  cautious  grave  exposes, 
Building  where  schoolboy  dare  not  look 
And  sportsman  is  not  bold. 

This  covert  have  all  the  children 
Early  aged,  and  often  cold,  — 
Sparrows  unnoticed  by  the  Father ; 
Lambs  for  whom  time  had  not  a  fold. 


POEMS.  193 


XII. 

A  S  by  the  dead  we  love  to  sit, 
'**1     Become  so  wondrous  dear, 
As  for  the  lost  we  grapple, 
Though  all  the  rest  are  here,  — 

In  broken  mathematics 
We  estimate  our  prize, 
Vast,  in  its  fading  ratio, 
To  our  penurious  eyes  ! 


I94  POEMS. 


XIII. 
MEMORIALS. 

f^\EATH  sets  a  thing  significant 
•    •      The  eye  had  hurried  by, 

Except  a  perished  creature 

Entreat  us  tenderly 

To  ponder  little  workmanships 

In  crayon  or  in  wool, 

With  "  This  was  last  her  fingers  did," 

Industrious  until 

The  thimble  weighed  loo  heavy, 
The  stitches  stopped  themselves, 
And  then  't  was  put  among  the  dust 
Upon  the  closet  shelves. 


POEMS. 

A  book  I  have,  a  friend  gave, 

Whose  pencil,  here  and  there, 

Had  notched  the  place  that  pleased  him,  — 

At  rest  his  fingers  are. 

Now,  when  I  read,  I  read  not, 
For  interrupting  tears 
Obliterate  the  etchings 
Too  costly  for  repairs. 


195 


196  POEMS. 


XIV. 

T  WENT  to  heaven,  - 
'T  was  a  small  town. 
Lit  with  a  ruby, 
Lathed  with  down. 
Stiller  than  the  fields 
At  the  full  dew, 
Beautiful  as  pictures 
No  man  drew. 
People  like  the  moth, 
Of  mechlin,  frames, 
Duties  of  gossamer, 
And  eider  names. 
Almost  contented 
I  could  be 
'Mong  such  unique 
Society. 


POEMS. 


XV. 

HpHEIR  height  in  heaven  comforts  not, 

Their  glory  nought  to  me ; 
T  was  best  imperfect,  as  it  was ; 
I  'm  finite,  I  can't  see. 

The  house  of  supposition, 
The  glimmering  frontier 
That  skirts  the  acres  of  perhaps, 
To  me  shows  insecure. 

The  wealth  I  had  contented  me ; 
If  't  was  a  meaner  size, 
Then  I  had  counted  it  until 
It  pleased  my  narrow  eyes 

Better  than  larger  values, 
However  true  their  show ; 
This  timid  life  of  evidence 
Keeps  pleading,  "  I  don't  know." 


197 


198  POEMS. 


XVI. 

'"PHERE  is  a  shame  of  nobleness 
•^      Confronting  sudden  pelf,  — 
A  finer  shame  of  ecstasy 
Convicted  of  itself. 

A  best  disgrace  a  brave  man  feels, 
Acknowledged  of  the  brave,  — 
One  more  "  Ye  Blessed  "  to  be  told  ; 
But  this  involves  the  grave. 


POEMS.  199 

XVII. 
TRIUMPH. 

HTRIUMPH  may  be  of  several  kinds. 
•*•      There  's  triumph  in  the  room 
When  that  old  imperator,  Death, 
By  faith  is  overcome. 

There  's  triumph  of  the  finer  mind 
When  truth,  affronted  long, 
Advances  calm  to  her  supreme, 
Her  God  her  only  throng. 

A  triumph  when  temptation's  bribe 
Is  slowly  handed  back, 
One  eye  upon  the  heaven  renounced 
And  one  upon  the  rack. 

Severer  triumph,  by  himself 
Experienced,  who  can  pass 
Acquitted  from  that  naked  bar, 
Jehovah's  countenance  ! 


200  POEMS. 


XVIII. 

OOMPLESS  no  life  can  pass  away ; 

The  lowliest  career 
To  the  same  pageant  wends  its  way 

As  that  exalted  here. 
How  cordial  is  the  mystery  ! 

The  hospitable  pall 
A  "this  way "  beckons  spaciously,  — 

A  miracle  for  all ! 


POEMS.  201 


XIX. 

T   NOTICED  people  disappeared, 

When  but  a  little  child,  — 
Supposed  they  visited  remote, 
Or  settled  regions  wild. 

Now  know  I  they  both  visited 
And  settled  regions  wild, 
But  did  because  they  died,  —  a  fact 
Withheld  the  little  child  ! 


202  POEMS. 


XX. 
FOLLOWING. 

T  HAD  no  cause  to  be  awake, 
My  best  was  gone  to  sleep, 
And  morn  a  new  politeness  took, 
And  failed  to  wake  them  up, 

But  called  the  others  clear, 
And  passed  their  curtains  by. 
Sweet  morning,  when  I  over-sleep, 
Knock,  recollect,  for  me  ! 

I  looked  at  sunrise  once, 
And  then  I  looked  at  them, 
And  wishfulness  in  me  arose 
For  circumstance  the  same. 


POEMS. 

*T  was  such  an  ample  peace, 

It  could  not  hold  a  sigh,  — 

JT  was  Sabbath  with  the  bells  divorced, 

'T  was  sunset  all  the  day. 

So  choosing  but  a  gown 
And  taking  but  a  prayer, 
The  only  raiment  I  should  need, 
I  struggled,  and  was  there. 


203 


204  POEMS. 


XXL 

T  F  anybody's  friend  be  dead, 
It 's  sharpest  of  the  theme 
The  thinking  how  they  walked  alive, 
At  such  and  such  a  time. 

Their  costume,  of  a  Sunday, 
Some  manner  of  the  hair,  — 
A  prank  nobody  knew  but  them, 
Lost,  in  the  sepulchre. 

How  warm  they  were  on  such  a  day : 
You  almost  feel  the  date, 
So  short  way  off  it  seems ;  and  now, 
They  're  centuries  from  that. 

How  pleased  they  were  at  what  you  said 
You  try  to  touch  the  smile, 
And  dip  your  fingers  in  the  frost : 
When  was  it,  can  you  tell, 


POEMS.  205 

You  asked  the  company  to  tea, 
Acquaintance,  just  a  few, 
And  chatted  close  with  this  grand  thing 
That  don't  remember  you? 

Past  bows  and  invitations, 

Past  interview,  and  vow, 

Past  what  ourselves  can  estimate,  — 

That  makes  the  quick  of  woe  ' 


206  POEMS. 


XXII. 
THE   JOURNEY. 

R  journey  had  advanced  ; 
Our  feet  were  almost  come 
To  that  odd  fork  in  Being's  road, 
Eternity  by  term. 

Our  pace  took  sudden  awe, 
Our  feet  reluctant  led. 
Before  were  cities,  but  between, 
The  forest  of  the  dead. 

Retreat  was  out  of  hope,  — 
Behind,  a  sealed  route, 
Eternity's  white  flag  before, 
And  God  at  every  gate. 


POEMS.  207 


XXIII. 
A   COUNTRY   BURIAL. 

A  MPLE  make  this  bed. 
'**     Make  this  bed  with  awe  ; 
In  it  wait  till  judgment  break 
Excellent  and  fair. 

Be  its  mattress  straight, 
Be  its  pillow  round ; 
Let  no  sunrise'  yellow  noise 
Interrupt  this  ground. 


208  POEMS. 

XXIV. 
GOING. 

/^\N  such  a  night,  or  such  a  night, 
^^     Would  anybody  care 
If  such  a  little  figure 
Slipped  quiet  from  its  chair, 

So  quiet,  oh,  how  quiet  ! 
That  nobody  might  know 
But  that  the  little  figure 
Rocked  softer,  to  and  fro? 

On  such  a  dawn,  or  such  a  dawn, 
Would  anybody  sigh 
That  such  a  little  figure 
Too  sound  asleep  did  lie 

For  chanticleer  to  wake  it,  — 
Or  stirring  house  below, 
Or  giddy  bird  in  orchard, 
Or  early  task  to  do  ? 


POEMS.  209 

There  was  a  little  figure  plump 
For  every  little  knoll, 
Busy  needles,  and  spools  of  thread, 
And  trudging  feet  from  school. 

Playmates,  and  holidays,  and  nuts, 
And  visions  vast  and  small. 
Strange  that  the  feet  so  precious  charged 
Should  reach  so  small  a  goal ! 


2io  POEMS. 


XXV. 

T^SSENTIAL  oils  are  wrung  : 
*-*     The  attar  from  the  rose 
Is  not  expressed  by  suns  alone, 
It  is  the  gift  of  screws. 

The  general  rose  decays ; 
But  this,  in  lady's  drawer, 
Makes  summer  when  the  lady  lies 
In  ceaseless  rosemary. 


POEMS.  211 


XXVI. 

T  LIVED  on  dread ;  to  those  who  know 

The  stimulus  there  is 
In  danger,  other  impetus 
Is  numb  and  vital-less. 

As  't  were  a  spur  upon  the  soul, 
A  fear  will  urge  it  where 
To  go  without  the  spectre's  aid 
Were  challenging  despair. 


212  POEMS. 


XXVII. 

TF  I  should  die, 

And  you  should  live, 
And  time  should  gurgle  on, 
And  morn  should  beam, 
And  noon  should  burn, 
As  it  has  usual  done ; 
If  birds  should  build  as  early, 
And  bees  as  bustling  go,  — 
One  might  depart  at  option 
From  enterprise  below ! 
'T  is  sweet  to  know  that  stocks  will  stand 
When  we  with  daisies  lie, 
That  commerce  will  continue, 
And  trades  as  briskly  fly. 
It  makes  the  parting  tranquil 
And  keeps  the  soul  serene, 
That  gentlemen  so  sprightly 
Conduct  the  pleasing  scene  ! 


POEMS. 

XXVIII. 
AT   LENGTH. 

T  T  ER  final  summer  was  it, 

And  yet  we  guessed  it  not ; 
If  tenderer  industriousness 
Pervaded  her,  we  thought 

A  further  force  of  life 
Developed  from  within,  — 
When  Death  lit  all  the  shortness  up, 
And  made  the  hurry  plain. 

We  wondered  at  our  blindness,  — 
When  nothing  was  to  see 
But  her  Carrara  guide-post,  - 
At  our  stupidity, 

When,  duller  than  our  dulness, 
The  busy  darling  lay, 
So  busy  was  she,  finishing, 
So  leisurely  were  we  ! 


213 


214 


POEMS. 


XXIX. 

GHOSTS. 

E  need  not  be  a  chamber  to  be  haunted,, 

One  need  not  be  a  house  ; 
The  brain  has  corridors  surpassing 
Material  place. 

Far  safer,  of  a  midnight  meeting 
External  ghost, 
Than  an  interior  confronting 
That  whiter  host. 

Far  safer  through  an  Abbey  gallop, 
The  stones  achase, 

Than,  moonless,  one's  own  self  encounter 
In  lonesome  place. 


POEMS.  215 

Ourself,  behind  ourself  concealed, 
Should  startle  most ; 
Assassin,  hid  in  our  apartment, 
Be  horror's  least. 

The  prudent  carries  a  revolver, 
He  bolts  the  door, 
O'erlooking  a  superior  spectre 
More  near. 


216  POEMS. 


XXX. 
VANISHED. 

OHE  died,  —  this  was  the  way  she  died; 

And  when  her  breath  was  done, 
Took  up  her  simple  wardrobe 
And  started  for  the  sun. 

Her  little  figure  at  the  gate 
The  angels  must  have  spied, 
Since  I  could  never  find  her 
Upon  the  mortal  side. 


POEMS. 

XXXI. 
PRECEDENCE. 

\\T AIT  till  the  majesty  of  Death 

Invests  so  mean  a  brow  ! 
Almost  a  powdered  footman 
Might  dare  to  touch  it  now  ! 

Wait  till  in  everlasting  robes 
This  democrat  is  dressed, 
Then  prate  about  "  preferment  " 
And  "  station  "  and  the  rest ! 

Around  this  quiet  courtier 
Obsequious  angels  wait ! 
Full  royal  is  his  retinue, 
Full  purple  is  his  state  ! 

A  lord  might  dare  to  lift  the  hat 

To  such  a  modest  clay, 

Since  that  my  Lord,  "  the  Lord  of  lords  " 

Receives  unblushingly  ! 


217 


218  POEMS. 


XXXII. 
GONE. 

"\1  7ENT  up  a  year  this  evening  ! 

*  ^       I  recollect  it  well ! 
Amid  no  bells  nor  bravos 
The  bystanders  will  tell ! 
Cheerful,  as  to  the  village, 
Tranquil,  as  to  repose, 
Chastened,  as  to  the  chapel, 
This  humble  tourist  rose. 
Did  not  talk  of  returning, 
Alluded  to  no  time 
When,  were  the  gales  propitious, 
We  might  look  for  him ; 
Was  grateful  for  the  roses 
In  life's  diverse  bouquet, 
Talked  softly  of  new  species 
To  pick  another  day. 


POEMS.  219 

Beguiling  thus  the  wonder, 
The  wondrous  nearer  drew ; 
Hands  bustled  at  the  moorings  — 
The  crowd  respectful  grew. 
Ascended  from  our  vision 
To  countenances  new  ! 
A  difference,  a  daisy, 
Is  all  the  rest  I  knew  ! 


220  POEMS. 


XXXIII. 
REQUIEM. 

'"PAKEN  from  men  this  morning, 

Carried  by  men  to-day, 
Met  by  the  gods  with  banners 
Who  marshalled  her  away. 

One  little  maid  from  playmates, 
One  little  mind  from  school,  — 
There  must  be  guests  in  Eden  ; 
All  the  rooms  are  full. 

Far  as  the  east  from  even, 
Dim  as  the  border  star,  — 
Courtiers  quaint,  in  kingdoms, 
Our  departed  are. 


POEMS.  221 


XXXIV. 

HAT  inn  is  this 

Where  for  the  night 
Peculiar  traveller  comes  ? 
Who  is  the  landlord? 
Where  the  maids? 
Behold,  what  curious  rooms  ! 
No  ruddy  fires  on  the  hearth, 
No  brimming  tankards  flow. 
Necromancer,  landlord, 
Who  are  these  below? 


222  POEMS. 


XXXV. 

TT  was  not  death,  for  I  stood  up, 

And  all  the  dead  lie  down ; 
It  was  not  night,  for  all  the  bells 
Put  out  their  tongues,  for  noon. 

It  was  not  frost,  for  on  my  flesh 
I  felt  siroccos  crawl,  — 
Nor  fire,  for  just  my  marble  feet 
Could  keep  a  chancel  cool. 

And  yet  it  tasted  like  them  all ; 
The  figures  I  have  seen 
Set  orderly,  for  burial, 
Reminded  me  of  mine, 

As  if  my  life  were  shaven 

And  fitted  to  a  frame, 

And  could  not  breathe  without  a  key ; 

And  't  was  like  midnight,  some, 


POEMS. 

When  everything  that  ticked  has  stopped, 
And  space  stares,  all  around, 
Or  grisly  frosts,  first  autumn  morns, 
Repeal  the  beating  ground. 

But  most  like  chaos,  —  stopless,  cool,  — 
Without  a  chance  or  spar, 
Or  even  a  report  of  land 
To  justify  despair. 


223 


224  POEMS. 

XXXVI. 
TILL   THE   END. 

T    SHOULD  not  dare  to  leave  my  friend, 

Because  —  because  if  he  should  die 
While  I  was  gone,  and  I  —  too  late  — 
Should  reach  the  heart  that  wanted  me ; 

If  I  should  disappoint  the  eyes 

That  hunted,  hunted  so,  to  see, 

And  could  not  bear  to  shut  until 

They  "  noticed  "me  —  they  noticed  me ; 

If  I  should  stab  the  patient  faith 
So  sure  I  'd  come  —  so  sure  I  'd  come, 
It  listening,  listening,  went  to  sleep 
Telling  my  tardy  name,  — 

My  heart  would  wish  it  broke  before, 
Since  breaking  then,  since  breaking  then, 
Were  useless  as  next  morning's  sun, 
\Vhere  midnight  frosts  had  lain  ! 


POEMS. 


225 


XXXVII. 
VOID. 

f~*  REAT  streets  of  silence  led  away 

To  neighborhoods  of  pause  ; 
Here  was  no  notice,  no  dissent, 
No  universe,  no  laws. 

By  clocks  't  was  morning,  and  for  night 
The  bells  at  distance  called ; 
But  epoch  had  no  basis  here, 
For  period  exhaled. 


220  POEMS. 


XXXVIII. 

A    THROE  upon  the  features 
^^     A  hurry  in  the  breath, 
An  ecstasy  of  parting 
Denominated  "  Death,"  — 

An  anguish  at  the  mention, 
Which,  when  to  patience  grown, 
I  Ve  known  permission  given 
To  rejoin  its  own. 


POEMS. 

XXXIX. 
SAVED ! 

tribulation  these  are  they 
Denoted  by  the  white  \ 

The  spangled  gowns,  a  lesser  rank 

Of  victors  designate. 

All  these  did  conquer ;  but  the  ones 
Who  overcame  most  times 
Wear  nothing  commoner  than  snow, 
No  ornament  but  palms. 

Surrender  is  a  sort  unknown 
On  this  superior  soil ; 
Defeat,  an  outgrown  anguish, 
Remembered  as  the  mile 

Our  panting  ankle  barely  gained 
When  night  devoured  the  road ; 
But  we  stood  whispering  in  the  house, 
And  all  we  said  was  "  Saved  "  ! 


227 


228  POEMS. 


XL. 

T  THINK  just  how  my  shape  will  rise 

When  I  shall  be  forgiven, 
Till  hair  and  eyes  and  timid  head 
Are  out  of  sight,  in  heaven. 

I  think  just  how  my  lips  will  weigh 
With  shapeless,  quivering  prayer 
That  you,  so  late,  consider  me, 
The  sparrow  of  your  care. 

I  mind  me  that  of  anguish  sent, 
Some  drifts  were  moved  away 
Before  my  simple  bosom  broke,  — 
And  why  not  this,  if  they  ? 

And  so,  until  delirious  borne 
I  con  that  thing,  —  "  forgiven,"  — 
Till  with  long  fright  and  longer  trust 
I  drop  my  heart,  unshriven  ! 


POEMS.  229 


XLi. 
THE   FORGOTTEN   GRAVE. 

A  FTER  a  hundred  years 

Nobody  knows  the  place, 
Agony,  that  enacted  there, 
Motionless  as  peace. 

Weeds  triumphant  ranged, 
Strangers  strolled  and  spelled 
At  the  lone  orthography 
Of  the  elder  dead. 

Winds  of  summer  fields 
Recollect  the  way,  — 
Instinct  picking  up  the  key 
Dropped  by  memory. 


230  POEMS. 


XLII. 

T    AY  this  laurel  on  the  one 

Too  intrinsic  for  renown. 
Laurel !  veil  your  deathless  tree, 
Him  you  chasten,  that  is  he  ! 


1541 


A 


